


Tarantella

by gooligan



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-27
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 76,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooligan/pseuds/gooligan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SG1 is used to dangerous places, but when Daniel Jackson is sent to investigate a Goa'uld crash, the whole team learns that some places are more dangerous than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the characters you recognize belong to MGM and company. Rossiter is mine all mine! The critters . . .well. That's to find out. My thanks to my betas and helpers: Ranger Bob, Amp, Heidi, Poss . . .thank you!
> 
> The story is complete, and I'll be posting another chapter every few days. If you already read this beasty someplace else and were hoping for a new story, my apologies.

Tarantella  
Email to livengoo, still at tiac.net.

========================================

 

1999 May 16 2315 approx. Earth Standard

 

The archaeologist remembered what he'd been doing.

"Grafitto on North 23 surface . . ." Daniel Jackson remembered that he'd looked up from his notepad, studying the wall he'd been sketching. The wall was that tacky, Goa'uld gold but it was covered in smoky smudges and in carefully painted images of hunts and . . . he had tilted his head, even knowing the nature of the image would escape him as it had for the three days he'd been mapping these walls. He remembered that he'd wondered whether grafitto was even the right word? Grafitto were images painted on rock walls, and the walls of Goa'uld ships were metal. He'd reached out to touch the cool surface, still unpitted, smooth five thousand years after it had crashed. Old. It had happened while the Goa'uld were still ruling earth. He remembered thinking that it was, oh, maybe, 850 years before the human insurrection? That's what he remembered, knew that's what he'd always remember, those thoughts just before the screams started.

He'd dropped his pencil. Looked up at the corner to see the light waver. Strange shadows had loomed for an instant, but they made no sense. The lamps the survey crew had set up clattered, loudly in the corridors. He knew there'd been gunfire but the lamps were what he remembered. And the screams, of course. Couldn't forget . . . could never forget the screams. He'd heard so many, he knew intimately the difference between a shriek of terror, a woman's high, shrill death scream and a man's deeper bellow. And, of course, the smell of fear. Blood and shit and piss, of course, the smells of death, but most of all, the smell of fear. He hated that one, really did hate it.

He'd been heading towards the corner. It was anyone's guess what he could have done but he'd been heading there when the young airman had barreled around it and into him. The soldier had almost knocked him down, then dragged him down the hall. He should be used to it by now, being dragged places. Should be used to the smell of terror for what it was worth, but he wasn't. The airman - Roscoe? Rostov? Rossitert . . .Rossiter. That was it. Airman Rossiter smelled like terror. His hand had been cold and slick with sweat, squeezing Daniel's painfully as he'd dragged him behind the little, ornamental screen and into the closet.

He remembered what he'd thought then. That this wasn't supposed to happen. That P4x-232 was safe, no Goa'uld, no hostiles. Not supposed to happen.

Fear tasted as bitter as it smelled. Daniel had tried to pry the hand away from his mouth a time or two. He had bruises on his jaw, and when he'd seen the white gleam of Rossiter's eyes in the gloom he'd stopped trying, had just wrapped his fingers lightly around Rossiter's wrist and held still. The airman's pulse raced under the clammy skin. A shadow had darkened the patterned screen of the closet once and he'd thought he'd felt Rossiter's pulse skip under his fingers. The bruises on his jaw ached, and that taste in his mouth . . .

The screaming had stopped a long time ago. There had been strange sounds in the hall for a lot longer, though. None of which were supposed to be there, to be happening at all. Daniel Jackson had listened and known it was something terrible, known it by the silence in the halls and the stink of Frank Rossiter in this gloomy, cramped little closet. And it wasn't supposed to be happening. Grafitto were images on rock, not metal . . . this wasn't supposed to happen. But the images were there, nonetheless and the shadows were there too. God, or gods, but he hated the smell of fear.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

1999 May 17 1500 approx. Earth Standard

It was a training mission and as far as the Colonel was concerned, they were SG ¾ rather than SG1, and they could have done this one even if they'd been SG 10 percent. It certainly wasn't like the training missions the rest of his team had known. Samantha Carter's training mission offworld had been a fight to survive, dusty, terrifying and exhilarating. Teal'c had never known a training mission – his life had been adapt-or-die as far as anyone knew. He certainly wasn't telling. O'Neill's own training mission offworld had pretty much been about like this one – peaceful and relaxed and calm. Except for the bits about being stranded and chased and blown up. And Daniel Jackson being killed, of course, though that wasn't likely to happen this time because their fourth was off in geek paradise studying hieroglyphs or pyramids or whatever, and this place wasn't really like Abydos much at all. In fact, it was lovely, green, peaceful and idyllic. A small lack sparkled in the sun. Fish hopped fishily into the air and their trainee had managed to calm down after shooting the first one. It was a mission which would be politely termed a cakewalk if Air Force personnel were inclined to use polite terms. Which they weren't. In the opinion of SG1's leader, it was the closest they could get to a day in the park and still thousands of light-years from home. God help them if they ran out of . . .oh, sandwiches. Or maybe got a blister on a toe.

Or got so bored they fell over asleep and broke something.

Which seemed like a very possible threat to Col. Jack O'Neill, USAF, retired, rehired, retired again, rehired again, and bored out of his gourd for sure. He distracted himself by showing off, waving a hand in a grand gesture as he announced, "What do you see all around you, Captain Sanborne? I'll tell you. You see trees. Green. Leafy. Trunky. Tree-y." He paused, decided not to ask himself if that was a word when he was pretty sure of the answer. Instead, he shot a carefully-practiced stern-commanding officer-look to the young man listening to him. "And why do you see trees?"

"Uhh . . ." The young man's eyes widened. Jack eyed him, wondering if the kid's coffee complexion had just paled. He knew that his own had in the face of pop quizzes like that.

"'Uhh' wasn't the reason last time I looked, Captain. Try again."

"Air filters?"

Jack smothered a grin. The kid had done his homework at least. If that wasn't a Jacksonian phrase he didn't know what was. "Nice try. Now give me the Carter version."

Brown eyes searched desperately for answers that he wasn't gonna find in a nice forest on a nice lake under a nice, blue sky. Jack sighed. Nice nice nice. Boorrrrrinnggg. He gave the kid a break. "I know, I know. Carter uses words I can't even pronounce, forget about memorizing 'em. If you ask her point blank she'll tell you that Ghoul worlds mostly come in two flavors."

"Right!" Sanborne nodded, gratitude and relief bright in his eyes. "Forest and desert. Standard temperate to tropical or arid environments where the . . . "

"Ghouls."

"Goa'uld," asserted the young captain, stressing the glottal stop, "will find a comfortable environment suitable for habitation and development.

"Yep." Jack cracked his knuckles and stifled a yawn. "What else can I ask you from the basic travel brochure?"

"Brochure?"

"I believe that Colonel O'Neill is twisting your leg." Teal'c glanced back, low voice rumbling in mock disapproval.

"Pulling, Teal'c. Pulling his leg." Jack finished baiting his hook and performed a perfect, practiced cast that dropped it right, smack dab where he aimed it. He gave it a sour glare, bitterly resenting being bored by fishing. Fishing should have been fun. On earth it would have been fun. On a world so far from earth that he couldn't even see Sol . . . it was jarringly out of place and duller than watching paint dry. Nothing to shoot, nothing to do except teach Sanborne how to not get killed on field trips. He hated training missions. Babysitting. Daniel got to go play with rocks and the rest of SG-1 got to go babysit.

"Sir!"

Carter's voice pulled him around fast, weapon automatically dropping into his hands at her urgent tone. "What? What?"

She was just standing there, clear of the tree line and alert, but not looking for anyone. There were no contrails, no whine of aircraft, nothing he could see, and what the hell - but something wasn't right. "Spit it out, Carter," even though she hadn't had time to catch her breath.

"They're calling us home, sir. Something's up."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1999 May 17 2100 approx. Earth Standard

 

The conference room had a kind of low-grade buzz of noise made up of whisper of pages in briefing folders turning, the soft clicks of glasses of water or cups of coffee being set on polished wood. In another era there'd have been the shhhh-snick of a slide projector but the computer only whirred as its fan went on. The people sitting around the table, though, were all quiet, watching the grainy film on the screen until it only showed the stargate, still and empty.

 

Major Samantha Carter fingered the briefing folder in her hands, but couldn't look away from the sputtering gray trailer of the video tape, mind still caught by what she'd seen. The Colonel, bless him, asked what they were all thinking.

"What in the hell was that?"

Dr. Frasier leaned forward, rubbing her eyes. "Short form, Colonel, nobody knows. Yet."

Another tired voice took over for her as General Hammond glanced around at each of them before locking eyes with the Colonel. "At 1810 yesterday SG-4 called in an unspecified medical trauma and informed us that one of their technicians was injured but stable. They were evacuating the whole team to avoid splitting forces on the ground. After that they went silent. At just before 1300 today an unscheduled wormhole opened. The signal was confirmed as SG-4's -"

"Isn't SG-4 one of the dweeb teams?" Sam winced at the look the General shot at Colonel O'Neill, but her CO blundered on, to all appearances immune to the Look of Death. "They're not due back for another week!"

"I'm well aware of that, Colonel O'Neill." Hammond didn't often give vent to sarcasm and Sam bit down on her lips and decided that she, for one, would sit through this briefing as given. "What you just saw is why they evacuated early."

That brought silence all around. None of them had really recognized the people they'd seen. To tell the truth, they hadn't really wanted to. She could still see it. Three people staggering through the gate. No, two really. The third was dragged between them, his face covered by . . . what? For an instant she'd thought of huge, scarring burns but the ridges were too big, too strange. She couldn't remember ever seeing or hearing of anything like it. It looked like a hand or a spider or some kind of aquatic animal. She nibbled her lip then glanced up towards the General. "Weren't there nine people on SG-4? And -" she tapped her open briefing folder, "three stationed at the gate?"

He nodded. "Four in the Air Force contingent, three technicians, two senior technical advisors. And the three airmen holding position at the gate. Their current . . . condition is unknown but considered -" He let the comment hang, sighed and went on. "Airman Tremblay and Dr. Powers were incoherent when they brought Mr. Norton through the gate. If you'll look in your briefing notes, you'll find transcripts of what we were able to gather. The unit decided to evacuate as a group rather than split up. They warned the gate base camp that some of the repeaters were down and that's the last really clear transmission we have from them. Tremblay and Powers are . . . not in a condition to debrief. Perhaps when they come out of sedation again -" He looked hopefully at an exhausted Janet Frasier, who shook her head.

"They're not rational, Sir. They tried to barricade the infirmary before we sedated them. When they're verbal they're not coherent."

Sam shivered. Dr. Powers had worked down the hall from her, kept borrowing her gauges and not returning them. And that was Joe Norton they'd carried back . . . Janet Frasier, sitting next to the General, looked tired but she met Sam's questioning stare. "Janet? That thing on Joe's . . . that thing on his face? Do you have any idea what it was?"

The doctor shut her eyes, paling a little, then looked up, meeting all their stares in turn. "Simple answer, we have no idea. We tried to get it off but . . . I'll . . ." she trailed off, shuddered then visibly gathered herself to continue. "Initial attempts to remove the creature were unsuccessful. You will find a report in your briefing material relating to the results of those attempts. We . . . " She trailed off again.

"C'mon doc. Spit it out. So the guy had a lobster on his face. How bad could it be?" Colonel O'Neill's voice was sarcastic, edged with the nerves they all felt.

"It could kill him, Colonel." The doctor's soft, emotionless voice deflated the Colonel. Stunned them all, to tell the truth. Frasier pulled herself upright, suddenly becoming the officer her rank said she was. "Upon examination we found invasive organs in his airway. The creature appeared to be sustaining his flow of oxygen at that point, and handling respiration, but he was unconscious and unresponsive to stimuli. Our attempts to manually remove it were unsuccessful. X-Rays reveal a very dense, infrastructure and we were unable to break or otherwise manipulate its . . . digits. When we attempted to cut it off him it exuded highly corrosive materials that made further attempts impossible. We followed medical contamination protocols at that point and established a containment barrier around the Airman before evacuating him to the bio-containment lab at Colorado State."

Sam glanced around, seeing the other SG teams there shift uncomfortably. All of them knew it was a risk, some infection or attack from offworld. It was thankfully rare but each time it happened the world got a little smaller, a little more dangerous and earth seemed too fragile to believe. She was about to ask when one of SG-6's people did the job for her.

"Doctor, you said the . . . infection . . . was fatal. What happened?"

Frasier's face was grim, new lines etched at the corners of her mouth. She reached for the remote that Hammond had set down earlier and cued up the next tape. "I don't think you'll believe it unless you see it. This was couriered in about an hour ago."

Sam shifted in her seat, bracing herself, but her first impression was bafflement. The tape showed a man, still beneath white sheets, his face clasped obscenely, then the . . . whatever it was just slid free, dropping limp. He took a convulsive gasp of air and his eyes flew open. His first puzzled minutes of consciousness were so reassuringly normal it was hard to believe what Frasier had said, that this man was dead even as they watched his image.

The tape ran on, giving them his first five minutes of activity. Frasier ran it on fast forward, through a meal and chatter, complaining and stories. Normal. Normal. Normal. Until he rubbed at his chest, a frown marring his ordinary face. The tape suddenly dropped into real time. Sam glanced across the table to see Janet Frasier sit back, hand over her mouth. She looked back at the screen just as Norton gagged and looked up at his attendants. His voice was strained. "I can't breathe. I can't . . . can't . . ." He broke off into a strangled scream and arched back onto the bed.

Sam wanted desperately to look away but couldn't. The screams just kept on, choked and hoarse and he writhed and the gown over his chest was suddenly red, blotted and then soaked red. Something dark lunged up and the tearing sound that wasn't just cloth brought a sour taste to the back of her mouth. She couldn't look away from the screen but she heard the choked sounds the rest of the men and women around her made as they watched the . . . the thing that had ruptured Norton's chest lunge from the bed towards the nearest attendant. The orderly shrieked and spun, pounding on the secure door and screaming for help. And the screen went dark.

"He died too." Frasier took her thumb off the stop button and threw the remote into the center of the table. She was pale but composed, better than Sam felt. "They didn't dare open the door. By the time they were able to get a good fix on . . . on IT, it had killed both the orderlies as well as Norton and was scrambling around the walls of the containment unit. They flooded it with cholinesterase inhibitors then evacuated all air from the room. It was declared dead after 2 hours in vacuum."

She clenched her hands in front of her. Sam thought they were shaking just a little. "Do you . . . does anyone . . ."

"Know what it is?" Frasier looked up at her, eyes haunted. "No. Right now I'm just thankful we got Norton into hard containment before it broke . . ." She didn't finish that thought. "If it had gotten loose here I don't know whether we could have controlled the situation."

"Indeed." Sam glanced to where Teal'c sat next to the Colonel. O'Neill looked shaken, ill. The Jaffa looked . . . not quite as imperturbable as usual. For him, that was practically horror struck. No one else in the room looked like they could bring themselves to talk at all.

Sam tried to frame a question, had to clear her throat against the sick tightness in her chest. "There were three teams on P4X-232, weren't there? Did any of them mention anything like this? What do they say?"

Hammond's voice was dry, controlled. "We don't know, Major."

She swiveled her head, felt more than saw the Colonel and Teal'c echo it. "Asking the General's pardon, sir, but you don't KNOW? When did you evacuate them? You did evacuate them -"

The look on his face cut her off but his voice was calm, too calm. "No Major. Neither of the other teams is within a day's travel of the gate. We've been drawing up plans to evacuate them, but those have been superseded."

"But you did warn, them, right?" The Colonel said before she could, in a tone that no major would dare to use. "They're getting out of there now, right?"

Hammond looked towards him but Sam could see that he didn't quite meet the Colonel's eyes. "Colonel, if it was that simple they'd be out of there right now and you know it. The only way to reach these teams is on foot. They were instructed to go to heightened security as of 1100 when the Gate team failed to check in on schedule. By 1300 today we'd lost contact with SG-10 as well. You were recalled at 1400. SG-9 did make their check in today. We've attempted contact every fifteen minutes since then. SG-9 still responds but SG-10 has remained silent. As of now their status is officially unknown. Currently we plan to deploy retrieval teams at 0200. Your orders, ground conditions and all available intelligence are in your folders. You have four hours, people. I'll see you at the Gate."

The General retreated to his office. SG-3 and 6 huddled together briefly before leaving amid soft speculations on what could have happened and what they'd need. Sam caught a few strained expressions from the corner of her eye, men who almost said something to them then thought better of it, the same look on Janet Frasier's face as she left, until SG-1 were all that was left. Most of SG-1 at least.

SG-10 was missing. They were going after SG-10, no question. The briefing room was suddenly too small, not the place Sam wanted to be. Needed to be. She pressed her hands flat against the cool surface of the table and looked over at Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c, seeing what she felt mirrored in their eyes. None of them needed to say it. Daniel Jackson was with SG-10.

\------------------------------------

1999 May 17 2200 approx. Earth Standard

 

Airman Frank Rossiter flinched. Jeez but the geek had sharp fingernails. For just a second it felt good, a clean wash of anger that took away the sick fear and the watery feeling in his gut. Then the guy hit a sweet spot and pain flared up his arm and terror chilled his skin as Dr. Jackson took a deep, noisy breath. A breath anyone with ears could hear oh Christ, oh Virgin Mary protect him but they were dead. Dead.

"Shutupshutupshutup . . ." Rossiter hissed, keeping his voice so quiet it was more a breath then a noise, leaning so close he could smell the soap on the other man's skin. "Christ's sake don't make a sound!"

"Airman . . ." The voice in his ear was soft, soothing, even as hands wrapped tightly around his wrists and forced them back against Rossiter's chest. "Airman, whatever they were, they're gone. Do you understand? We need to get out of here."

No . . . nonononono! He lashed out, clamping his hands around the other man's face. "You'll get us killed you'll get me killed they'll . . . they'll . . ." He shuddered, stomach lurching and got control of himself by an effort he'd never have believed he had in him. Yanking the archeologist close enough to breathe the words in his ear, he whispered, "You didn't see it. You can't imagine. We can't go out there. They'll rip us apart. We can't. We can't."

Strong thumbs dug into his tendons, forced his hands away from Jackson's face. "Listen." The word, spoken in a normal voice, was shockingly loud in the little room. "I don't hear anything, Rossiter. I don't see anything either. See the lights?" A pale hand moved, splayed out against the pretty screen that was one wall of their hidey hole. "I believe you, I do. But they're not there anymore. The lights aren't moving and there aren't any shadows. We have to leave."

". . . please . . " That tiny squeak couldn't be him, but his skin felt like ice, and his heartbeat pounded in his own ears.

"We can't stay here, Airman." Jackson's eyes were wide and dark in a pale face. "We have to . . . " He didn't go on, just waved at the screen again and got to his feet, pushing Rossiter's hands back and away. "I'll go first. You can wait here, listen for me. But there's no one there."

The archeologist - the CIVILIAN - pushed the door open slowly, slipping out. Rossiter held his breath and waited forever, counting his heartbeats, onetwothreefour - at twenty-five he couldn't stand himself and lunged at the door after the goddamn civvie, bursting into the hall, sure that his last sight in life would be gold and black walls, lights crazily askew, knocked off their stands, blood spattered . . . everywhere. He stared around at the looming shadows, the glints of light off gold and red. Where was the . . . "Jesus!"

"What?" Jackson spun, pressing his back against the wall at the corner he'd been about to turn.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Rossiter was trembling. He could feel it, shaking where he stood like some rookie but that idiot, goddamn fucking civilian suicidal head case - "We're getting out of here, Doc. This way."

Blue eyes - they'd looked black in that closet, he thought irrelevantly - scanned past his shoulder to the end of the corridor. Jackson gestured vaguely towards the corner behind him. "We need to find them. The rest of the team are . . . they're the other way. We can help."

"They're gone, Dr. Jackson." Rossiter slumped. It was so quiet. The geek had been right. Nothing alive was left here but the two of them, nothing around that corner but things that Rossiter never wanted to see again. He spoke softly, respectfully, of the dead. "You didn't see it. They're . . . there's no one left."

"But . . ." his face twisted into a frown. "But there were eight of them. There has to be someone."

The Air Force didn't tell him about this, about how to make somebody believe in this shit. Hell, he didn't believe what he'd seen himself. He shuddered, queasy at a sudden thought as he stepped up next to the archeologist. "You didn't believe me, did you? You really didn't believe me."

Jackson's eyes flickered, the strange light reflecting off his glasses. Rossiter took a deep breath, smelling blood and shit and urine and something else, something acrid and wrong. Jackson's face had gone even paler. "What if somebody . . . there has to be somebody left." That flicker of the eyes again and Rossiter could see him making the connection, hearing the same silence that had taken away the airman's terror, and left only a bitter relief in its place. "Rossiter, didn't anybody . . ."

"I tried to tell you, Doc. Nobody."

He didn't believe him. Not really. Rossiter could see it. Could see him trying to believe that somebody was left to need their help. He reached for the guy's shoulder but the archaeologist slipped out from under his hand, around the corner and down towards where Rossiter would have given a year's pay never to have been and not to go back now. He swallowed hard and stepped around the corner, or tried to. He just couldn't. His bladder felt heavy and his hands shook and, for the life of him, he couldn't make himself take the three steps past the wall that blocked his view.

It was quiet for a long time. Forever. An instant. Dr. Jackson made a sound, a strangled little noise and Rossiter's nails dug deep into his palms. Jesus. He could still see it in his mind's eye, screwed his eyes shut tight as if that'd make the images go away, as if he wasn't thinking of what Jackson'd be seeing even now. Thank God and the Madonna but all he could hear was the soft scuffing of Jackson's feet. No screams. Not even the strange clicking sounds or the squelching noises he knew he'd hear in his nightmares for the rest of his life. Just that quiet sound, uneven as if the guy wasn't able to keep moving. Getting a little louder.

Jackson backed up into Rossiter's line of sight, face white and eyes wide, fixed back the way he'd come. Where Rossiter wouldn't, couldn't look. His glasses had slipped to the tip of his nose and his eyes looked glassy. He jumped when Rossiter spoke. "I told ya, Doc. They're gone."

The guy swallowed convulsively. Rossiter could see how his throat moved, see him collect himself. "You're sure? Are you sure no one could be left? Did they take anyone alive? Could they be -"

"Doc." Rossiter cut him off, shaking his head. "No. I'm sure. And even if I wasn't, I'm damn sure that you and I couldn't get 'em out. I don't know if an armored division could get 'em out and that's God's honest truth."

A shaking hand shoved the glasses back up into place. Jackson looked back over his shoulder. His voice was distant. "They came in through the rupture, didn't they? Where the hull broke when the ship crashed. They . . ." His voice trailed off and he swallowed again, face crumpling. His eyes were too bright when he looked back at Rossiter.

"Come on." This he could do. This, they'd taught him. "We've got to get out of here, Doc. We've got a long way to go."

This time Dr. Jackson let himself be guided, tugged out of the Goa'uld ship and into the moonlit cool of dusk on an alien world. Rossiter paused, checked his compass and got his bearings. The archeologist was starting to notice his surroundings again, and Rossiter was relieved. It'd be easier with two sets of eyes, even when one of 'em was civvie. Triple moons spilled dull light over the ruined city streets. Nasty ground, even when they didn't have to contend with . . . Jesus, but Rossiter hoped they didn't have to contend with Them 'cause no matter how fast or skilled you were, there were just some things you couldn't stop. And it was a long, long way to the stargate and home.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and words, if that kind of thing bugs you, and for egregious geekiness.

1999 May 17 2300 approx. Earth Standard

 

"C'mon Janet, you telling me that's the best you can do?" Jack O'Neill combed his fingers through his hair again. "You gotta have more than that. Give me SOMEthing! Speculate, estimate, hell, I'll take a silly-ass guess right now!"

"I'm sorry Colonel." She wasn't meeting his eyes. He hated that. It meant that not only were things every bit as much in the shit can as he thought, they were probably worse. If that was possible. Yep, it was possible. She was eyeing Carter like the Major was her last hope. Christ, Carter was good at pulling scientific rabbits out of her helmet but O'Neill had it on personal authority from the wizard herself that she had no fucking clue what those things were, let alone how to kill 'em. Well, short of shooting them into orbit or something like that.

Yep. Just like he figured. Carter's big baby blues went wide and she shrugged. "I'm an astrophysicist, Janet. I called everybody in my interstellar phonebook and they had nothing. Don't look at me."

"You see more xenobiology in the field -"

"AH!" O'Neill waved a finger at her. "I don't want to hear that. You see all our reports. You have GOT to have some idea what that . . . that . . . BUG was!"

She was rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyes. Bad sign. Baaaad sign. He sighed and resigned himself to it. "Colonel, I don't have the faintest idea. I am a doctor, an ER trauma specialist, not a cryptobiologist or a xenobiologist or, I don't know, an entomologist or ANY of the specialties or pseudo-specialties or psychic advisors you'd need to tell you how to kill those THINGS!" He winced as her voice rose to a full shout. "If I could tell you how to kill them I would! Hell, I would go WITH you and stomp 'em out myself. Right now I can't even tell you if what we killed is a juvenile or an adult or what they're even made of. I can't tell you what to look out for besides what we saw on that screen. Powers and Tremblay are so damn traumatized they can barely string a sentence together. They keep talking about exploding eggs and jaws and things. I can tell you to look for something scary and don't let anything stick to your face but until those . . . those . . . lily-livered, stinking COWARDS down at Colorado State -"

"State?" Carter's dismayed question stopped her.

"Subcontractors." Frasier sighed and shook herself. "We needed a fully equipped bio-containment lab. We didn't have the time to get this thing to Fort Detrick so it's down at the L3 at Colorado State. God help us."

"We couldn't do it here?" O'Neill started to comb his fingers through his hair again and stopped by an act of will. "Janet, why the hell couldn't we do it here? We did those little nano-shits here. And Machello's silverfish. And that caveman virus, you know -"

She was shaking her head. "Necessity. And my god, we were one step from disaster on every single one of those. I just don't have the room or the funding to do it right, Colonel. This thing - well. You saw what it did to those men. And I'm still not sure it's dead. We put it into the strongest containment we could find and now it's wait and see. I just don't . . . I don't KNOW what to tell you. I don't know what it IS!"

Her frustration stopped him in his tracks. Carter met his eyes and gave her head a little shake, no speculation, no estimation and not a silly ass guess between the lot of them. He felt his own shoulders slump. And stopped, grinned slyly at Carter and shook his head. "So. Situation normal, all fucked up, huh Major?"

Her answering smile was slow but steady. "I guess we play it by ear, sir."

"So what else is new?"

Frasier was looking between them like she couldn't decide who to sedate first, but the mood was getting to her too. He could see it. See the way the corners of her eyes quirked with a laugh she was trying to keep off her face. "Give me the phone, Colonel."

He grabbed the receiver, lobbed it over to her. "You mind if I ask why?"

"You make the Gate in 3 hours, right?"

"Barring sudden insights and new weapons, yeah. And your point would be?"

"Dr. Jackson's your usual wild-ass-guess specialist. You're short one psychic."

"I'll tell him you said so." O'Neill suddenly grinned back at her, and laughed out loud. "So who's it gonna be? Dionne Warwick?"

Carter piped up. "Try Madame Cleo. She's got the best ads."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1999 May 17 2330 approx. Earth Standard

 

"Did this . . ." Teal'c paused, allowed one eyebrow to rise minimally, "Madame Cleo recommend this course?"

"It's . . . she's . . . never mind!" O'Neill's worry-funk evaporated into consternation as he scrubbed the air with his hands. "Carter, did you have to bring that up?"

Teal'c suppressed a smile and shared a glance with Major Carter, who had dimpled but managed to keep the grin off her face. "Sorry Sir. No unauthorized intel sources. Right, Sir."

"Right." He shook himself, much like the earth dogs that Teal'c had seen, and pointed to the upper left quadrant of the map again. His voice was suddenly sharp, focused, and Teal'c leaned in next to him to see more closely. "All right, kids, we've got a little over two hours to gate time and a lot of ground to cover. Time to get out the cheat sheets and cram."

"Cram?" Teal'c considered the word and debated asking what should be crammed and where.

"You were one of those kids who copied the answers at the last minute, right Sir?" Major Carter was arranging her briefing.

"Think study group, Carter." O'Neill sighed and turned back to the white board with its image of dense forest and skeletal buildings. "What are we taking in?"

The Major traced a finger down a list. "The usual, plus machetes, a flame thrower and thermite grenades. I thought about defoliants but we won't have time to let them work."

"Janet come up with anything to kill the uglies with yet?"

Major Carter eyed him. "Sure. But I passed on the nerve gas and decompression tank so that's one we've still got to play by ear."

"She can't do better than that?" O'Neill grimaced. "What good are smart people when they don't give you the answers you want?"

"I couldn't possibly answer that, Sir," the major responded. Teal'c met her eyes and nodded, acknowledging her bravado, and the fear it kept at bay.

O'Neill zoomed the projection in on a glint of bright metal among the trees. "Okay. We've got, what, three teams on P4X-232. I guess they figured you don't find a downed pyramid ship every day and wanted to know how they did it. The UAV shot this five hours ago, just before Joe Norton, ah -"

"Died." Major Carter's comment was precise and neutral.

"Yeah. Died." Teal'c could hear him swallow. The image shifted as O'Neill tapped a few keys on the computer and the projected image moved. "The city and trees won't let us see most of the ground routes clearly but we can figure 'em out from where it thins out. Up here . . ." He scrolled the image northwest until it showed the ruins of an ancient, shattered ship, the trees in its crash path stunted even thousands of years after its fall. "This is where SG-10 was working."

The atmosphere was suddenly charged, all three of them focused. Teal'c knew the mood, had felt it before but it always reached something deep inside. Major Carter had risen to scrutinize the image the computer projected onto the screen. "That's where Daniel's team was?"

"Yeah." He glanced at his notes too quickly to read them, as if he had this memorized and was merely checking a detail. "SGC laid out the big bucks for this one. Botanists and engineers and anthropologists. And one archaeologist with the worst luck in the universe."

Major Carter ignored the commentary, staring at the image. "Can we get any closer, Sir?"

"You got it." Individual trees suddenly loomed up.

Teal'c narrowed his eyes and tried to make out the ground past the leafy canopy. "Have there been further attempts to contact the research teams?"

"Oooh yeah." The Tau'ri's drawn features belied the irony of his tone. "Every fifteen minutes we've been asking ET to phone home." He paused, eyeing Teal'c as if waiting for a comment. The Jaffa paused courteously, refraining from providing the straight line the colonel was so clearly waiting for. "We heard from SG-9. The bug lady and her guys are fine but nothing from SG-10 and we all know what happened to SG-4. More or less."

They were all silent for a moment. Teal'c took a deep breath. Failure could only be an outcome, never a possibility. "Therefore there is no evidence that SG-10 has suffered the same fate. Only that they have encountered difficulties."

The Tau'ri glanced at each other and he could read the thought that went between them. Had Daniel Jackson been there, he was certain he would have been reminded that denial was not simply a river, but it was also not an option that Teal'c was willing to consider until all others had been exhausted. He flipped through his briefing materials, locating the last substantiated contact with SG-10. O'Neill had anticipated him. It was . . . satisfying? Reassuring. Even as he studied the printouts the colonel was summarizing the material.

"We're gonna run through it out loud. Stop me if I miss a high point. Stop me if you spot something good. Hell, stop me for anything, cause I sure see shit-all in this stuff myself. Near as I can tell, all contacts looked normal forty-eight -"

"Fifty-two, Sir." Major Carter corrected him automatically. "P4X-232 has a 26 hour day."

"Six. Right. I knew that. Fifty-two hours ago all three teams checked in. And SG-9 and 10 and the gate all called in at midnight, right as rain. Nothing weird, SG-4 was squirrelly but the other teams were fine. We've got recordings from the gate boys that sounded like SG-4 was calling in too, right up until about 0900. Nothing to make 'em fire up the gate more often and make the bean counters scream. And that's the last time we hear from 'em until SG-three-out-of-4 comes through the gate. By then SG-4, 10 and the Gate team are all gone. Something took them out of commission so fast they never dropped a dime."

Teal'c paused. "Dropped a dime?"

An instant of triumph flickered over O'Neill's face. "Called and reported a bad guy."

Samantha Carter was writing down times, frowning. "Ignore him, Teal'c. Phone calls haven't cost a dime in more than a decade. Colonel, are you saying this was a planned attack? I mean, that thing on Norton didn't seem . . . intelligent."

Teal'c understood why she looked sick at the thought. It chilled his spine, as well. "For three teams to be disabled or destroyed in such a short period would indicate either a widespread catastrophe or excellent coordination. SG-9 did not report earth tremors or similar mishaps but for three teams to fall silent within two hours time? It seems unlikely that their silence is coincidental."

"You can say that again." O'Neill held up his finger before Teal'c could respond, "Ah! Figure of speech."

"I was aware." The Jaffa relaxed, soothed by the momentary absurdity.

O'Neill scowled, knuckles white on his pen as he sketched his own timeline. "SG-4 called in a medical evacuation but it all sounded under control. That's the last transmission SGC gets though they're recording calls with the gate boys until just after 0830 local time. Sometime after that the gate team dropped off the face of the earth. Whatever got 'em was fast and efficient. They couldn't get to the gate and there aren't any calls on the MALP. They just disappeared. The MALP recorder says SG-10 sent out one more shout at, I guess, just before noon local time?"

Major Carter nodded, confirming his timeline. "Yeah, right around 1100 or so. It sounds like they tried to raise the gate and no one answered. We called when they missed their check in and all we got was the MALP. "

"You listened to the tape, didn't you Carter?" O'Neill rifled through his folder, pulling out what Teal'c recognized as the tape transcript. "I couldn't get much out of it. They sent a general notice to look out for something before they went dead but there was a lot of static and they weren't any too clear by then."

Teal'c scanned his own transcript of the radio contacts from SG-4. "Eggs. When I listened to the recording it sounded like 'eggs.'"

"You've got good ears." Major Carter made a note on her file. "I didn't pick that up until they cleaned up the static."

O'Neill shook his head, mumbling something about "scrambled or fried" which Teal'c ignored. The Colonel's face was grim, though, when he looked up from his briefing file. "SG-4 said it had everything under control when they moved out. SG-10 went off line just before noon but they were calling in until then. When SG-4 ran into trouble last night Capt. Souris called in something about sending assistance right around 1700 or so. SG-4 said they had it under control then, and they were heading on in. SG-9 offered help too, same thing."

"Why weren't they on hourly check-in?" Major Carter could have been talking to herself. "We know the time, Sir, and we know the ground as well as we're going to but what was happening, what . . ." she shook her head, expression lost. "Where did they go?"

The plastic case of the pen cracked in O'Neill's hand. Teal'c slowly sat back, striving to keep his thoughts off his face as she looked between them. "Where did they go?"

"That's what we're going to find out, Carter." O'Neill's voice was gentle, calm. "And then we're going to bring them home."

\--------------------------------

1999 May 17 2330 approx. Earth Standard

 

"We need to find someplace to camp." The airman's voice was soft, barely louder than the wind in the leaves.

"Where were you thinking of, airman?"

Rossiter blew out a noisy breath. "Someplace safe, sir."

Daniel Jackson stared around them at the tangle of vines and trunks, snaking across the road and climbing tall in the center where the light would be brightest in the day. He quickly brought his eyes back to the uneven ground. He'd skinned his hands enough for one night and tripping again really held no particular charm for him. The hair at the nape of his neck prickled and he looked up, meeting Rossiter's eyes. Scared eyes. Daniel swallowed hard, taking in how smooth the Airman's skin looked in the late moonlight. He barely looked old enough to shave, let alone be carrying automatic weapons. Not for the first time, Daniel wished it was Jack or Sam or Teal'c or, oh, name them and they'd probably be more reassuring than this wet-behind-the-ears baby airman. He swallowed hard at the sudden thought that this might be Rossiter's first time off-world.

Rossiter was still watching him, waiting for a comment about, right, a camp. Daniel blinked. "Safe? Airman, do you know what we need to protect ourselves FROM? Because I don't.

A stricken look was there and gone in a second. The airman bit down on his lips and looked around. "With you being off-world so much sir, I thought you might . . .uhh . . ." He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Daniel blinked. Sucked in a deep breath and tried to remember the places Jack had picked, wondering how much training an airman like Rossiter got before they sent him out to a place like this one. Or like they had believed this one would be. Safe. How to ask that without suggesting that Rossiter was too young to know a good camp site or, equally bad, that in a jungle like this, Daniel himself was utterly clueless and dependent on a young man who, he was sure, really was too young to know a good camp site if he stumbled right through one. Trees. He was beginning to share Jack's aversion to them. A nice desert now . . .

"Uhhh . . ." Hearing his own verbal evasions echoed back by the (young, young, really terrifyingly young) man in charge of their safety and getting them back to the gate was NOT reassuring.

"What do we know, Airman Rossiter? Maybe that would help." An academic's solution. Start by quantifying what you know. Daniel clenched his teeth and tried to offer a trusting smile to reassure the young man.

"That they're big and scary and they ripped eight men to pieces." That flat, stunned recitation was NOT what he was looking for, oh, most definitely not. Daniel sighed and extended his estimate of the airman's shock.

Not that he really blamed the young man. Noooo, couldn't say that. He wished he couldn't picture that hallway quite so clearly. It made airman Rossiter's shock entirely too easy to understand. He took a deep breath though, and concentrated, seeing the hallway in parts rather than the whole. "I'm not at all sure . . . I mean. I didn't see Dr. Singh. Or Karen Appleton, either. I'm not positive that . . . that all the bodies were there. I think . . ." He took another deep breath. "I think that's what we heard, Airman. Them being dragged away."

"Why?"

"Why what?" Daniel looked up, startled, and stumbled as his toe caught a root.

Rossiter reached out to steady him. "Why take them?"

"Why kill them? Animals kill for territory or threat or for food. It'd be a waste to kill them and leave them." Even in the moonlight Daniel could see the color leach out of Rossiter's face. Oddly, the question steadied him. "I only heard the attack, airman -"

"Frank." The single flat word cut him off, and it took Daniel a moment to realize it was a name.

"Air- Frank. Yes, it was brutal but . . ." He hesitated, thinking about what he'd heard. At the time he'd been so frightened, but in hindsight . . . "It was like a pack. A hunting pack. I didn't hear anything that sounded like words, or any patterns, but they overtook th- four heavily armed marines." He corrected himself at the last moment.

"So what are you saying? That they're like a dog pack or something?"

"Noooo . . .I don't think I know enough to draw a conclusion. I'm trying to get a firm grasp of what we did observe so that -" He hesitated again, thinking it through. "We need to know what they are. There were several and they were organized or they wouldn't have succeeded so well. Have you heard from the other teams? Have they seen anything like this?"

"I . . ." Rossiter's eyes went wide and his lips thinned. The sick look on his face was suddenly chagrined as a hand flew to his radio. "I turned it off. They'd have heard . . . I mean. I . . ."

Daniel smiled, absurdly glad for the ridiculous laughter bubbling in his throat and the sudden leap of hope. "Why don't you turn it back on. I think we need to make a collect call."

The radio burst into life, static loud in the hush. Rossiter hit the transmit button and spoke rapidly, announcing himself. Let it go and waited, waited, but nothing, nothing. He tried shifting up and down through channels with nothing but static.

Daniel was holding his breath. He must have been holding his breath a long time because his lungs ached and the pulse was thundering in his ears but it didn't matter. The static didn't change. Rossiter stabbed at the transmit button again and begged, absolutely begged for anyone to answer. Daniel . . . well. He was just glad it wasn't him on the radio because begging was too dignified for how he felt.

When the static broke he sucked in a breath so deep he coughed and grabbed Rossiter's hand, holding it as if he could hold the signal, touch the caller. "SG-10? SG-10 respond!"

"We're here! We're here!" Rossiter's voice cracked. "I mean, this is airman Rossiter, this is SG-10."

"Thank god." He wasn't sure, but that's what it sounded like. He was ready to send up a prayer of thanks himself. "SG-10 this is SGC. Please respond SG-10."

"We're here. We're okay. I mean . . ." The kid stuttered to a stop. The hand holding the radio was trembling just the slightest bit. "There's no one left, SGC. They're all gone."

"Airman, please repeat." That was Lt. Simmons' voice, strained and sharp. "Repeat. We didn't get that."

"It's just us."

Daniel looked into Rossiter's eyes. No, that was wrong. Daniel couldn't look away from Rossiter's eyes, deep and lost. Rossiter's fingers were icy cold as Daniel tugged the radio from his hand.

"Simmons? Is that you, Simmons?"

"DR. JACKSON?" The line was still open and they could hear a very undisciplined and unmilitary sounding babble. "Dr. Jackson, hold on just a second sir."

A familiar growl cut through the chaos. "Simmons, gimme that!"

"Jack!" Daniel almost dropped the Airman's radio. "Jack, are you there?"

Staticky, broken words came back. "Yo! What IS it with you and stinky monsters, Daniel!?"

"These monsters didn't particularly stink, Jack. Besides, I think they said they were looking for you!" He almost laughed with relief.

"How bad's the damage, Daniel?"

Daniel Jackson took a breath shaky with relief. For a second he couldn't find his voice. A doctor of linguistics and he couldn't find the words . . . but he could. And that almost scared him worse. "There's two of us left, Jack. Site 2 was attacked. I didn't see them, and Rossiter's report isn't - it isn't clear. I'd estimate we've got between fifteen and twenty miles to cover to the gate. You know the ground conditions?"

"Urban jungle." Jack's voice was warm with approval. "We're sending in three teams, Danny. Two of 'em will look for the other guys. Me and Carter and Teal'c, we're gonna be coming in to pick you up. You and Rossiter, how are you two? You got any broken bones?"

"No. We're both fine."

"Running a fever?" The solicitous tone was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Noooo," growled Daniel.

"Headache?"

"Have I mentioned that you're an ass, Jack?"

"Frequently, Dr. Jackson, frequently." Even through the lousy reception Daniel could hear a matching relief in Jack O'Neill's voice and he grinned up at Frank. "Listen, Daniel, can you two sit tight? You in a secure place?"

Both of them looked around, met each other's eyes and shook their heads. "Not really, Jack. I think we need to keep heading towards the gate. It's . . . it's sort of in the open here. And the creatures, well . . . I really wouldn't like to run into them out here." Or anywhere, but still . . .

The static went on long enough that his stomach clenched. "Jack, are you still there?"

"Yeah, Daniel. Just . . . it'll make triangulating on you harder but keep heading in. The minute you find a secure site, you go to ground. Got it?"

Frank reached over and punched the line back open. "Got it, Colonel. We got it."

"Good. We're coming to get you. It'll be okay."

Daniel looked up into Frank Rossiter's face, seeing a kid who'd just had the world's weight taken off his shoulders. He smiled reassuringly as Jack signed off, and gestured on down the choked, wrecked boulevard. Jack had said it'd be okay, and Daniel desperately wanted to believe him as much as Frank Rossiter clearly already did but . . . he glanced back over his shoulder and shivered. Nothing moved in the night, but he couldn't help but wonder what he'd see in the dawn.

TBC


	3. Tarantella 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers in part 1.

1999 May 18 0215 approx. Earth Standard

Jack O'Neill, colonel, ex-Special Forces and self-avowed hard ass, stopped cold and stared thoughtfully around him. He turned full circle until he'd taken it all in. "Carter?"

"Yes Sir?" The blonde was still shivering with the stargate's residual chill.

"You know what I always say about trees?"

He caught her baffled nod from the corner of his eye. "Add buildings to that."

Teal'c prowled past him as the stargate spat out SG-3 right behind them. "Are there any environments which you do not hate, O'Neill?"

O'Neill pretended to think about that. "Bars. I really like bars. Even when there are fights in them."

"So. That makes trees, deserts, oceans and cities?" Carter sounded distracted as she ticked off the list. She was circling too, studying the plaza around them. Finally came to a halt and looked up. "Three moons. We have enough light to move. Hold for dawn Colonel?"

"I want to get this shit done. You really think you could get any sleep here, Carter?"

She shook her head briefly, then focused out, listening, watching. He didn't need to ask Teal'c at all. The Jaffa had moved to the edge of the clearing and was testing his machete on the vines draping a tree. "Annoying, but flimsy."

SG-3 saved them from further landscape critiques (probably a good thing, O'Neill had to admit). Sgt. Fuentes shoved his helmet back and craned up at the skeletal, vine-choked buildings looming around them. "Well will ya look at this muthafucka? What a dump!"

"Yeah, but it's our dump." O'Neill hesitated. "That didn't come out right."

Major Ystrzmski eyed O'Neill for a moment. "I hear they got Ex-Lax for that, Colonel."

"Can we just get on with this, Skee-ball?" The Colonel made shooing motions at the marine. "You've got a team to rescue. Go west, young Jarhead."

"You wingnuts and your lit-er-ary airs," the Major growled back. "Talk to ya in an hour, O'Neill?"

"On the hour, Skee. On the hour." O'Neill sighed and turned towards the road that ran closest to north, grumbling. "And I thought rush hour was bad. Let's move it, kids."

"My God," breathed Carter, coming up to stand next to him as SG-3 moved off to their right. "The vid just doesn't begin to . . . How did they ever get through this?"

"Machetes." O'Neill pointed to the hacked path, barely discernable twelve days after the research teams had forced their way into the . . . woods, for lack of a better word. He sighed and scratched the nape of his neck, trying to ignore the premonitory twinge in his knees. "Teal'c, you're on point. Carter -"

"Left flank?"

He nodded. "You sing out when your arm gets tired and we'll switch."

Her eyes were still wide. He didn't blame her. If Manhattan had been draped in jungle it couldn't have matched this. Leaves rustled in the breeze and something - actually, a lot of somethings - chattered and chirped in all that green shit. She turned back towards him, still slightly dazed. "I hope I never get flowers for my birthday again. Remind me to throw out my plants."

"Hey, I'll do it for ya, Major. Let's get Danny and get home. Maybe they'll send us to some nice ice world after this."

It didn't take long for the green hell to become their whole world, blocking the view behind almost as thoroughly as the view ahead. The air stunk with sap, sticky, slippery, sometimes stinging. Gnats hung around them, drawn by the scents of flesh and torn plants. Nothing like this existed on Earth, and not many on other planets either – the Goa'uld hadn't allowed many cities to grow, and where cities survived, they hadn't been eaten by the planet, swallowed up like this.

They didn't have breath to talk. The only noise was the monotonous swish-crunch of sharp blades through plants, and the crackle of ancient fallen leaves underfoot. And it was dark. They'd come through at night, by a chance alignment of planets, though the hours couldn't ever match up to Earth's. It'd be dawn before long and the need to move made rest impossible, made it more practical to move and get away from the open ground of the stargate, but the dark made O'Neill jumpy, nervous at what he couldn't see and couldn't know. If he'd been asked to describe hell, this would sure as shit be a good option.

O'Neill hated jungles. Jungles were always bad news. But he'd never seen an urban wasteland like this, at least not when he was awake. Oh, he'd had a few nightmares - he remembered sitting there with a book, playing out in his mind how it would have been if he'd been in Mogadishu, instead of the poor bastards whose words he was reading. Most of his personal nightmares were set in deserts but he was suddenly gaining a new appreciation for open, empty places. This . . . he frowned at the idea of a running fire-fight in something like this. It was like being caught in a green spider web, he thought, slashing at a prickly vine. A green spider web at midnight. The triple moons cast strange shadows as he slashed at the tangled mass choking what had once been a broad street. His machete clanged against a wall, the vibration shuddering up his arm. "Damn it! That's that. Carter, you ready to change sides?"

The blonde stopped, shoving her hair back from a sweaty forehead. "I thought you'd never ask. Thank god it's not hot yet."

Teal'c, ahead of them, also stopped though he still faced outward, guarding against the unknown and, in this nighttime jungle, unseen. "O'Neill, perhaps you should try to contact Daniel Jackson again?" He held his staff weapon easily, but his voice was quiet, hushed.

It made O'Neill nervous. "Take five, Carter. I guess we can call our little lost lamb." He sidled up next to Teal'c, who hadn't even looked askance at the idiom. The big man was still scanning what should have been a street. "It'll be light soon. It'll get easier then."

"I do not like this place, O'Neill." There was that damn, hushed voice again, like somebody might be listening.

"You're spooking me out, Teal'c. Any minute now I'll be looking for stick figures hanging off the trees."

That got him. The Jaffa's mouth twitched and one eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. "I would prefer to be back hiking in those woods, O'Neill. My symbiote found them most restful."

"No witchy vibes? But here -" He waved around them.

"Something is here."

O'Neill took a swig from his canteen and frowned, letting his eyes scan lightly, looking for patterns in the tangle of vines and shadows and branches. "You seen anything? Or is this a Jaffa-sized hunch?"

"It is neither. My symbiote -"

"Ick." The Colonel made a face. "I get the picture. You got a rumbly in the tumbly from walking in the woods."

Teal'c glanced back, over his shoulder to where Carter was resting, watching their six. "Have not you or Major Carter felt it? I . . . my symbiote is uneasy and I can smell something. Something is here."

"So you said." O'Neill rubbed at his shoulder, kneading a tight muscle. "This place gives me the creeps too, but if there's something in the air I just can't smell it. Like romance, I got no instinct for it."

"I do not think we should pause here. I advise waiting to contact Daniel Jackson, at least until we are away from here. We should continue." O'Neill shivered at that. The former First Prime of Apophis was not a man who was easily spooked, but Jack O'Neill would have sworn he sounded nervous.

"We keep going for now, Teal'c, but we can't keep going forever." He studied the ground around them, then looked back to the Jaffa. "We'll cover ground faster in the daylight but we'll need to find someplace by noon. This isn't the place to get tired and lose it."

Teal'c nodded, eyes still on the sockets of long-shattered windows. "Perhaps this will ease by day. Though when you call Daniel Jackson you should, perhaps, warn him to avoid stick figures and old houses."

Jack O'Neill shook his head, summoning an expression of mock-disgust. "And me without my handi-cam. Okay, kids, let's get a move on before we grow roots."

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

1999 May 18 0415 approx. Earth Standard

"I wonder about the people who built this. You know, what they were like." Frank Rossiter settled back against a big chunk of fallen concrete and tore the top off an MRE. "I mean, what was all this stuff?"

Dr. Jackson looked up from prowling around the clearing. "This? I'd guess some kind of public gathering spot. Like an auditorium or arena. The greenery's relatively sparse and the detritus looks less weathered than most of what we've seen. I think most of it only fell recently, a few decades, a century at most . . ."

"Crap. And I used to think a year was a long time." Frank dug into his breakfast. His stomach suddenly rumbled. "I am starving! I'm so hungry that this smells good."

"Yes. Well . . ." the archaeologist picked his way through the rubble and settled down by the fire. "Good is a relative term in some cases, and that's certainly true of MRE's. Could you hand me one of the chicken ones?"

"Mm." Frank pawed through the selection, wondering for an instant whose pack he'd grabbed on the way out of the pyramid, then carefully not going where that thought wanted to lead. "Here. Chicken."

Jackson turned it around and stared. "My god. For once it actually says chicken!"

Frank looked up quizzically. "You said that's what you wanted . . ."

"Yeah, but they all taste like chicken." Jackson stared at him. "You must have noticed . . ."

He hadn't but he wasn't about to admit it. What had they taught him in Recon? Diversionary tactics . . .

"Did you really live on a different planet for a year?"

"Uhhh, yeah. Yes I did." Jackson looked away, expression wistful.

"How? I mean, you go out there and nothing's familiar? When they posted me to Japan I was so homesick! I spent every day in McDonald's. It tasted like home."

Dr. Jackson was staring at him with a slightly dazed look on his face. "Umm, I spent a lot of time moving around when I was a kid. It was easy . . . McDonald's tasted like home?"

The faint horror in his voice made Frank squirm a little. "Well, I mean . . . I tried eating at those sushi places too! And I learned the language. Enough to talk to a girl, anyway, not like the guys who never left the base. But that's what I'd miss, you know, if I was stuck far away."

"McDonald's?" Dr. Jackson's forehead furrowed into a frown, kind of a consternated look Frank thought he'd probably call it. It cleared into something halfway between shock and dismay. "I've got this horrible notion of McDonald's with a Goa'uld menu."

"Who knows?" Frank scooped up a nameless lump from his MRE. "Maybe they're like the Germans and invading anybody they think's got better food than them. I mean, who ever heard of a Goa'uld restaurant? What do they eat anyway?"

Dr. Jackson was blinking very fast and studying his MRE intently. "There's a thought. A KFC on Chulak. Or we could put little franchises on the Ha'taks."

"Sure! Sure!" Frank sat up suddenly, grinning. "You know, they're an Imperial Evil Empire type. We just send in free market ideology and franchises and if they've got good food and all, well . . . it worked in Russia, didn't it? And China! It's working in China too!"

The archaeologist looked back solemnly. "You might be right, but I suspect that the Asgard and Tok'ra would be compelled to stop us. And maybe the Nox too, though I don't remember what they ate. Somehow, given the choice between McDonald's and the Goa'uld . . . I don't know. With great power comes great responsibility. Franchising like that is . . . well, some weapons are too dangerous to use."

Frank sagged back against his rock, working to put a knowing, resigned look on his face. "Closed economies? Alien protectionism?"

"Umm. Something like that. Actually, I think there might be intergalactic prohibitions on franchising." He made a stifled noise that Frank strongly suspected might have been a giggle and bent his concentration on his MRE. "I'll take the first watch, okay?"

Frank laid back on the ground, head pillowed on his pack. "Okay. Dr. Jackson?"

Glass lenses reflected the light of the setting moons as Jackson looked up. "Yes?"

"Be honest. Did you miss the fries?"  
__________________________________________________________________

1999 May 18 0615 approx. Earth Standard

 

Jack O'Neill scuffed at a pile of stinking, scorched weeds. He sighed, studying the view of the shattered walls that were the remnants of a big room. Corner location, prime retail spot and damn good for lines of sight and defense. Teal'c's staff weapon had made fast work of the sparse greenery that had survived the gloom inside and, as camp sites went, this was probably as good as they were going to get. Damning with faint praise.

"We've got a clear line of sight south, Sir." Carter waved a hand back the way they'd come. "The eastern window is obscured by woods but it's a narrow, defensible front."

He grinned at her. "Damn, Carter, you sound almost as fond of trees as me."

"This isn't trees." She grimaced and rubbed at shadow-smudged eyes. "This is a morass."

"Language, Major." She looked beat. He glanced back to where Teal'c prowled the eastern exposure. "He's spooked. Says there's something out there."

Carter's face was grim. "Yeah. I know. I keep thinking I'm hearing things. I can't decide if it's the wind or critters or what, but I swear, Sir, I'm hearing something out there. I keep thinking of kudzu demons."

His head swiveled back so fast his neck hurt. "Carter, did you just say 'kudzu demons'?"

"Uhhh," she blushed and found the scope of her MP-5 needed attention. "Well, Sir, yes, I guess I did."

He rocked back and forth, heel-toe-heel-toe waiting until she peeked up through her bangs. "Kudzu. Demons?"

"What would it take to get you to let this one go?"

"More than you're willing to pay." He glanced back over his shoulder at Teal'c again, and rubbed hard at the back of his own neck when the hair stood on end. "Come on, Carter, spill."

She eyed him and took a deep breath. "Wellll . . . when I was at the Pentagon I lived in Northern Virginia. And they've got a little kudzu, you know?"

He snorted. "Hell, their kudzu looks like some of the stuff I see in my fridge after two weeks out. Green, all over and you're pretty sure it's looking back."

Carter nodded enthusiastically. "Just like that. Sometimes I'd hear the old timers, the tobacco farmers like you'd get at the farm markets, talking about the kudzu demons. You never see them - you don't ever want to see them. They figure you see them and you end up under the kudzu. They creep out at night and plant more kudzu, you know? Every so often one of the guys from the road mowing crews would end up under his mower or just disappear outright and they'd say -"

"Riiiight. Gotcha. The kudzu demons got him?" She nodded and O'Neill suddenly felt the skin between his shoulder blades chill and creep. "Jesus, Carter. Maybe I didn't want to ask after all."

She shrugged apologetically but her eyes suddenly sparkled again. "You did ask, Sir."

Teal'c looked back over to them and his voice carried clearly, hushed though it was. "I do not know this kudzu of which you speak, Major Carter, but I would advise caution in this greenery. Perhaps your tale is not as fanciful as one might wish."

Crap, crap, crap. Well, that was one diversionary tactic that backfired. "Look, this is really entertaining but storytime's about done here. Carter, correct me if I'm wrong but didn't they set up repeaters when they brought in the research shit?"

"Mm. They had to carry them in. I don't know how far they got . . ."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Carter, Get on the radio and see if you can raise Daniel."

He moved away from her, into a clear spot as if that'd make a difference. Time to reach out and touch someone. The first burst of static made him wince and yank his radio away from his head, but there was a voice there. He scrunched up his face, trying to understand SG-3's transmission. "Yo, Ystrzmski. Hey man, you got your head in the fridge or something? Your signal sucks."

"Anybody ever tell you you're an asshole, O'Neill?" Or at least, that's what O'Neill thought he'd said. Ystrzmski's usually crisp voice was broken by static.

O'Neill went with his boundless faith in Marine Corps profanity. "That's Colonel Asshole to you, Skeeball.

"Yes Sir, Colonel Asshole Sir!" Well, that came through clearly enough. O'Neill grinned.

"How's it looking on the west side of town Skee?" He squinted in the brilliant, mid-morning sunshine glaring into the street that Teal'c had cleared. "I'd estimate we're making about half a mile an hour in our neck of the woods."

"Hah. Marines know you gotta work smart, not hard. We found ourselves a nice viaduct and we're doing damn near two miles an hour. You need us to send you a grunt to figure out how to get the job done?"

"Riiiight, Ystrzmski. Tell you what, you play Deliverance and I'll stick to the overland route and the last one back to SGC stands both teams to dinner."

"O'Malley's. Whoops, they don't let you lowlifes through the door there anymore do they? Red Top then. Better get your credit limit raised, Colonel O. Hey, minute you raise the tomb raider give us a call and we'll help you get a fix."

O'Neill smiled, hearing the concern behind the words and acknowledged. "I'll get Carter to help you with the math, Skee. You guys be careful. You owe me a couple burgers."

"You're getting soft on us, Colonel Jack." Or that's what he thought Skee'd said. Could have been "r'getti'g oft skirn jerk" for what he could get through the static, but even jarheads knew more English than that.

"Good luck with the bug doc, Skee. Check back in sixty mikes, right?"

"You just miss my dulcet tones," growled the marine. "Over."

Asshole.

He glanced over at Carter, who shook her head. "Keep trying. Teal'c, walk me around the perimeter. Let's see where Carter's kudzu demons are gonna be hanging out. Then it's dinner time, kids. "

P4X-232 wasn't the enchanted forest even in the flattering light of three moons. In razor-cut sunlight it was a green hellhole. Carter's voice, trying to raise Daniel, was just swallowed up by it; muffled in walls of the stuff. The tension came off Teal'c in waves and O'Neill found himself tightening his grip on his weapon and rubbing at the back of his neck. Old habit sent his gaze upwards, looking for a glint of light he didn't expect to see. No sniper-scope glitter, but what he did see had him tilting his head, puzzled. "Teal'c, you ever see anything like that?"

The big Jaffa looked up to where he pointed. His mobile face twitched minimally, a telling slip. "I have seen something similar, but . . ." He trailed off. Teal'c trailed off. Jack O'Neill's nerves tightened another notch.

"What?"

Teal'c tilted his head, face slowly folding into a look that mirrored the Colonel's puzzlement. "It resembles the encrustations you found beneath your roof, O'Neill. The homes of wasps."

For the second time in an hour O'Neill's neck twinged as he swiveled too fast, this time up to stare. "That thing's gotta be three storeys high. Holy shit."

\------------------------------------------------------  
TBC


	4. Tarantella 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel Jackson is on a road trip from hell. Is he Bing or is he Bob? Who knows. All he knows is that his chances of being eaten are way too high. Jack and company may never endure house plants again after this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone (thing) you recognize belongs MGM, Fox, and all those corporate types. Ski, Rossiter and their ilk are mine, all mine!

1999 May 18 1245 approx. Earth Standard

 

Daniel reached out to drag his fingers over a wall. The frame had buckled, skin bellying out to rupture. What archaeologist could resist? He paused, peering into the dark, musty cavern that had once been - what? An office? An apartment?

A hand closed over his elbow and he jumped, heart in this throat and spun to face Frank Rossiter's worried face. "I think you should stay away from there, Doc."

"Daniel. It's just Daniel."

Frank blinked, then smiled a little shyly. "Okay. But I'll probably slip and call you 'Doc' anyway."

Daniel shoved his glasses up his nose and shook his head in mock disapproval, then let himself be coaxed back out into the street. "That's for medical doctors. I don't much use my title myself - blame Jack and the General for that. I think the military hierarchical structure finds titles reassuring. They provide contextual niches to understand roles within an organization or as defined exclusive of the organizational focus."

The airman looked slightly dazed but reasonably content as he guided Daniel back into the street, equidistant from the hulking ruins that formed an unnatural, jungle canyon. To tell the truth it was a complete pain to navigate and Daniel had been happier in the shadow of the walls, where the path was smoother, but Frank was so obviously leery of the ruins that he couldn't quite bring himself to argue.

He didn't look quite as young this morning. Daniel studied his face a moment, considering that he actually looked old enough to have a graduated from college. Maybe even old enough to grow a credible mustache, though it would still have looked like a vain attempt to look older on his smooth face. It startled him suddenly, realizing that he'd been working beside this young man for two weeks and had never really seen him. He swallowed hard, trying and failing to remember the faces of the rest of the team, except for Bettina Mseke. He remembered the ethno-linguist's smooth, brown face and how frustrated she'd been that there were no tribes, no spoken language at her site. He stumbled and Frank's hand on his arm steadied him until he could blink his eyes clear again. Daniel cleared his throat, murmured an apology. "Sorry. Must have drifted off for a second there."

"Yeah." There was a pause, then Frank cleared his throat. "I keep thinking of them too."

"I . . . I have trouble remembering what they looked like." He whispered it, looked away, not wanting to see the look on Frank's face.

" . . .What were you studying? I mean, when . . . what were all those paintings on the walls?" There was no judgment in Frank's voice, no anger. Daniel looked back, startled, and had to swallow again, seeing the understanding in hazel eyes.

He took the escape offered. "Umm. They were . . . they were like cave paintings done over the gold walls. Hunting scenes and scenes of gathering, but there were older images, too. I think they remembered the Goa'uld. You see the regular images . . ." He rambled on, mouth lecturing on autopilot while his memory brought back the paintings more clearly than the faces of his colleagues. Painted men running among herds, images suddenly coming to life as the steady, twentieth century lights were knocked from their tripods, wavering like the fires of thousands of years, casting shadows over walls. He frowned. Shadows on walls. Shadows of . . . "They painted them."

"Doc?"

Daniel stood stock still, barely aware of Frank or the jungle around them. He felt the frown draw his face tight, eyes flicking back and forth over images that memory saw. "In summer, they painted the trees and the people and they painted these things. I couldn't figure them out. Bigger than a man, hunched and black. They had spines, tails, and wherever they appeared the tribes stopped and they painted the people in ones and twos until the trees were bare. They painted them, didn't they Frank? What you saw . . ."

The airman had gone pale, eyes round in a pinched face. "We could have known?"

Daniel turned a slow circle, staring up the sun-drenched walls that loomed over them. "Why did this happen? What ruined this place? It died fast, decades at most. Nobody leaves a city like this, Frank."

Hard hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back, shook him. "Goddamn it, did you know about them? Did you see them on the walls?"

"See . . .?" He tried to shrug free but Frank's hands were locked on his shoulders, fingers digging in hard.

The marine's eyes were glassy and wide, lips drawn back from his teeth as he screamed into Daniel's face, "you saw them in there? You saw what they did and you didn't warn us? Did you know about those shits? Did you KNOW?"

"NO!" Daniel grabbed his wrists and dug his thumbs in hard until the hands let go. "Frank! Listen to me! LISTEN!"

Tears were caught in the other man's lashes and his face shook, rage and horror drawing the skin tight over his bones. Daniel wanted to step back, turn away. But made himself meet the airman's eyes and hold the stare. Whispering now, speaking softly of the dead, "I didn't know. I couldn't know. I didn't understand what I saw."

Frank's voice was equally quiet, but hard. "But you saw them. You should have known. We should have known."

Daniel shuddered, suddenly queasy. And shook his head, words nearly failing him now. After a lifetime spent finding words, finding meaning, the words he found just couldn't possibly mean enough. "I didn't understand in time, Frank. We were deciphering it and we didn't understand it in time. I don't really understand it even now."

Frank shut his eyes tight and stepped back away, hands dropping to his sides. Daniel cleared his throat but Frank's hands came up between them like a wall. "Stop. I don't want to hear it. I don't want . . . I don't want to hear anything right now, Dr. Jackson. Just . . . Let's get the hell out of here."

His eyes burned, vision blurring as the younger man turned and marched away from him, into the dappled green. Daniel scrubbed angrily, wiping his vision clear and stood straighter, glaring at his companion's back.

Then stopped.

His blood went cold in his veins as something moved in the green, uncoiling slowly from the branches over Frank's oblivious head. Sunlight filtered through leaves, glossy on strange, wet-glossy skin and Daniel's guts went to watery ice at something he'd seen by firelight, something hard to understand.

His voice cracked in the buzzing quiet of the afternoon. "Frank. For god's sake don't move."

________________________________________

 

1999 May 18 1245 approx. Earth Standard

 

Joey Ystrzmski didn't make a sound. He didn't have to. A few gestures and men disappeared into greenery as if they'd never been there. Sergeant Wexler padded ahead of the major, parallel to the beaten path. Knocking on the front door would be easier but there was a lot to be said for subtlety.

SG-9 had been the closest to the gate, working with the locals. That bet O'Neill made for who'd be back first, it was a sucker bet. Skee was gonna eat his lunch. Or rather, his dinner. After they got back. That was the big thing. Find their guys, take 'em home, in and out, get off the clock and go eat. Marine heaven.

On the clock was a totally different deal and the clock was ticking for sure. Mid-day in some corner of the universe that he couldn't even find from Earth, on a sunny day in a jungle. He smelled greenery and flowers and none of it smelled right. Ystrzmski took a deeper breath, drew it through his nose, over his tongue, trying to smell people, taste them. Listening, smelling, looking for his guys.

Then the wind shifted and he wasn't sure they'd need to worry anymore. Wexler paused, the breeze ruffling his dark hair. When he turned to face into it, Ystrzmski could see his face twitch. He knew his own nose wanted to wrinkle at the carrion stink. Insects buzzed and clicked in the warm sun, hidden in the undergrowth. Leaves rustled but he couldn't hear anything else. The sergeant ghosted forward, a little more slowly.

This place had been dead for days. They took their own sweet time and made damn sure of that, but in the end the only things moving under the sun were the bugs and the men who gradually materialized out of the green, each one adding a little more confirmation to what they already knew.

Ystrzmski stood on the edge of a cleared central green, looking around at the tents and the equipment, tape recorders, meteorological equipment, weapons dropped next to bodies on the ground. He crouched next to a body in green camouflage and turned it over. Scorched meat and rotten flesh in the sun was a smell you could get used to but never really learn to ignore. He muffled the clank of metal tags with his hands, somehow needing the quiet to stay unbroken.

"Jaffa." Sherman, across the clearing, didn't raise his voice but his words carried. "This one's Jaffa and he's ripped to bits."

That was . . . interesting. Unpleasant. Even for a Jaffa. Ystrzmski padded across the clearing, weaving between the equipment. Most of his team had melted back into the green but he was sure they saw him even if he didn't see them. Sherman still crouched by the body on the ground pulling battered armor away. He looked over Sherman's shoulder, seeing torn flesh over the abdomen, a ragged wound that stretched from hip to hip. And glanced up and around, listening more closely to the sounds of insects. Wexler met his eyes and nodded. The perimeter had been set.

He moved away from the bodies, circling the clearing slowly, taking in the pattern of what had happened here. Gray metal and gold ornaments shone dully here and there. Mostly he saw shapes that were disconcertingly familiar, almost but not quite human. Bipeds, rounded heads, small, flat noses and large eyes, glazed and sinking into their skulls. The beige fur on them was strangest, mottled or gently patterned. The Jaffa were scattered among them, a few large, armored bodies, a few others in camo. It gradually registered as he checked the tents, counted the bodies. There weren't enough humans.

"Got a snake." Wexler beckoned to him. He poked a toe at a body without a face. The lower jaw had been ripped off, a hole punched in - or out - of the neck. "Something didn't like him."

The guy had been wearing a gold skirt and a white linen tunic. Ystrzmski didn't have to ask why Wexler thought it was Goa'uld. Or a host of a Goa'uld rather. The view they had would have made the parasite easy to spot. "What the hell did that?"

"Beats me. It didn't happen here, though." He gestured at the dry ground under the body, and the stains on the tunic. "He bled a helluva a lot but he didn't do it here."

"Huh." Ystrzmski glanced around again. Dead Jaffa. The humans and humanoids were mostly sporting staff burns but the Jaffa were shredded. And their master was shredded, but not bad enough to kill a Goa'uld, he thought. Not immediately, anyway. The sun was giving him a headache. "I can see what the Jaffa did. The furry guys are fried too. But what did -" He glanced back at the dead warrior's body.

"I'm thinking Norton. Check out behind that tent." Wexler nodded his head to the eastern side of the camp.

The major nodded, turning away. He cut between two SGC-issue command tents carefully, the sun warm on the back of his neck. The bugs never changed pitch.

Something had burned to death. Hard, blackish shell and raking claws lay mired in a mess of something slick that reeked. The smell made his eyes hurt. Claws.

He looked past the muck of the thing, seeing little gouges in the dust. They looked like what raindrops did to powder dirt until you looked closer. He beckoned to Sherman, pointed them out. The kid studied them a moment and nodded as if he'd just made a connection, as if something suddenly made sense. "They're thick around the Jaffa."

Ystrzmski eyed the remains and thought about the kind of tough bastards who were Jaffa and shivered for just a moment. "Grab the tags. Half our people aren't here. If anyone saw anything, and I mean ANYTHING, that'd give us a direction to go, I want to know about it."

"Yessir."

He watched the younger man move off and grimaced. Time to call O'Neill and tell him SG-9 was gone.

_________________________________________________

 

1999 May 18 1400 approx. Earth Standard

 

"What?!" The Colonel's sharp voice jolted her wide awake. Sam came up in a half-crouch, weapon in her hands, before she fully registered her surroundings. The Colonel waved her back down and repeated the question more quietly. "Are you sure?"

Ystrzmski's reply made his eyes narrow with annoyance but he nodded to himself. "Yeah. I think I see the problem. Over."

"What problem?" She scooted over next to him. Teal'c, deep in Kel-no-reem ignored them but her manners were too well ingrained to let her raise her voice.

Mannered wasn't the first description she'd apply to the Colonel, but he was quiet too. "SG-9's dead. Or at least, the half of it they can find is dead. Skee's got four sets of tags."

Carter absorbed that, mulling it over. "Were their chests blown?"

The Colonel looked like he was chewing through his own set of calculations. He shook his head absently. "Nope. They found a batch of Jaffa there too. Said it looked like the Jaffa blew away most of the village SG-9 was with, and the guys . . . the bodies they did find were all staff burned. But something ripped the Jaffa apart. From the outside, before you ask."

"Ugh." She grimaced. Did a mental double take. "Jaffa?"

His face was grim. "Yeah. They found Snakeboy too. Or the host. They didn't confirm the parasite was dead so I'm assuming it's not."

"Do they have any idea where the s . . . oh. They didn't find the parasite and they didn't find the whole team."

"Which adds up to another SGC snake, yeah." The Colonel grimaced. "No telling which one it'd get, but I'm betting the scientist. The troops are just a little too . . ."

"Wary. But Ski can't know for sure. The snake could be dead, they could have gotten it," Sam offered with a weirdly bitter hope.

"Snakes, Sam. It's alive. The rest of the team, the ones that weren't there? You know better than that. And Skee said the bodies were at least two days old but we didn't have any reports. Which means the transmissions from SG-9 were fake and the snake's been sending red herrings."

"And he didn't say which way it might have . . .No, He wouldn't. Repeaters." Sam sighed. "If they tell us, but then they tell the world, too. Including the Goa'uld, if it's still out there. Where do you think it went?"

"You're asking me to think like a snake? Carter, I think I'm offended!"

"I think you're . . ." Sam cleared her throat. "Umm. Did Major Ystrzmski say anything about what killed the Jaffa? You said they'd been ripped apart. That doesn't sound like our weapons."

"He didn't say. I don't think he knows. But you're right. I don't think we could do what he described. And he said the good guys he found, natives and ours, had staff burns. The rest . . ."

She studied his face, wondering how six people could just vanish into thin air. "Has SG-6 called in? Did they find anyone from SG-4?"

O'Neill scowled. "They checked in. And they haven't found anything. They're trying to trace what they think is the mostly likely route, otherwise they'll have to go to 4's base camp and trace it back that way. Too long. This is taking too damn long. Look, I know you didn't raise Daniel earlier, but maybe by now . . ."

"All these buildings," she mused. "Even with the repeaters it'd be tricky to get a good signal. What we really needed was the UAV's."

"You want to go back to the gate and request one?" The Colonel did a credible imitation of Teal'c.

"Nope. I'll try Daniel again."

"'kay. We'll move out on 30, okay?"

She studied him a moment, taking in shadowed eyes and the line between his eyebrows that deepened when he didn't like a situation. Right now it was pretty damn deep. She turned away and grabbed her gear. She knew exactly how he felt.

 

____________________________________________________

 

1999 May 18, 1300

"Hold still, Frank, very still . . ." Oh hell, oh hell, but he wasn't sure, couldn't know that was the right thing to do, but when Frank stopped moving so did the thing that had uncoiled from the branches above him. Ugly, gray and shiny-sleek, he could see a long head, unbroken by obvious eyes or ears. His mind kept cataloging almost automatically, noting smooth, graceful movements, jointed, bird-hipped legs and long arms, elbow-wrist-four fingers, claws, tail with a ferocious double-pincer like an earwig's.

Daniel Jackson swallowed hard, tasting acid at the back of his throat. When he spoke, though, his voice was normal. Or close to normal if he corrected for the little shake and the crack in the middle and what the HELL was he doing thinking of verbal construction and delivery now?

"Doc?" The airman's voice was level, controlled. "It's one of them, isn't it?"

"Yes." He choked on the word and had to clear his throat, try it again. This time he was sure Frank could hear his voice shake. "Yes. It's one of them."

"You sure?" Frank stood very still, head half-turned back towards him, weight balanced. His voice might be steady, but Daniel could see a tiny tremor in his hands, the tension in the line of his back. "Those cave paintings were awful damn sketchy."

Daniel laughed. He couldn't help it, he tried not to and by any of God's many names, it was not the time for it but it was funny! Still chuckling just a hint, he answered "I'm sure. You just don't see something like that every day."

"Uh huh." Frank's voice sounded just a little breathy, but even. Calm. "Take a deep breath, Doc. I need you to tell me a couple things."

Yeahsureyabetcha. He shook his head and focused. "I'm here."

The long, glossy head was still, hanging over Frank's head. Daniel's stomach rolled. "Keep it together, okay Doc?"

"Don't call me that." The answer was automatic, surreally normal.

Frank's voice sounded calmer than ever. "How far behind and above me is it? And are you in my field of fire?"

Field? Oh. Behind him and . . .yeah. "I'm moving now. It's four feet behind you and about eight feet off the ground. Uh, at a little angle, I mean, about seven, sorry, ten o'clock behind you," Daniel estimated as he moved to get clear of . . . the bulbous head moved, tracking him and the nightmare in the trees uncoiled further as he moved. Daniel froze and it went still again.

"Doc? Daniel! What's happening?" The sharp edge was back in Frank's voice but Daniel didn't really have time to pay much attention. He lifted a hand slowly and watched a head that he could now see was viciously fanged as it turned to pace the motion. The creature was out of the trees so suddenly he wasn't sure he'd tracked its drop. It paced towards him as he moved back, clawed feet oddly soundless in the leaf mould of the overgrown street.

"It's moving away from you, Frank." Daniel backed away, absently reporting, "I don't think it really registers sound. It's been responding to motion."

"How far away is it, Daniel?" This time the words were rapped out sharply in a voice Daniel knew all too well from Jack. Of course, half the time he ignored it from Jack too . . .

"I think you can turn around now, Frank." Daniel kept his steps slow and small and the thing paced him, slowly nearing.

"Jesus Christ."

He couldn't look towards the breathed curse, couldn't take his eyes off the creature in front of him. Big, standing maybe six and a half feet tall, but it seemed longer, coiled back into its own body length like a spring. Daniel held his breath and reached for the weapon at his hip and suddenly the thing was there, right in front of him, and the 9mm was spinning into the green, his hand stinging from the blow and . . .

Daniel froze as the fanged jaws opened and a smaller, sliding oral apparatus moved towards his face.

"Keep it together Daniel, you hear me?" Frank's hissed query was urgent. "If you hear me I want you to ball your right fist. Do it now, Doc."

He did, and the creature seemed to . . . glide down, hissing, tracking the motion. Daniel was shaking like a leaf, but this time when he froze the creature didn't. Its long head tilted, came close. It smelled, faintly, of acid and sharp chemicals. Daniel's ears were ringing and the skin of his hands, his sides, was icy cold and soaking with sweat. That fear smell again, but this time he knew it was his own sweat rank in his nose. Slowly, slowly, he raised his left hand, the one away from Frank.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Daniel?" He could hear Frank, ripping velcro, the rustling sounds of searching in clothes, wondered that he hadn't heard the click of a weapon being readied for fire.

"It sees me." He responded quietly, barely moving his lips. "It's following me.

"It's gonna fuck you UP, Doc! You trying to PLAY with that asshole?"

"No, no, you don't understand. It's . . . It's following me. I think it's dancing."

"You're nuts, you are fucking out of your mind! It's –" Frank snapped. Daniel could hear him moving, might have seen it peripherally if he hadn't been tunnel-visioned on the thing in front of him.

"Frank, I think it's mimicking me. I think it dances like a bee."

"Yeah, yeah, that's real nice, Doc." Frank's voice was impatient, puzzled, harsh. "It doesn't sting like a bee, though. Can you move back fast?"

"I don't think so." Daniel shifted his weight, pivoting back just a little, but the thing followed him. God, it was big.

He had a vague impression of armored hide, smooth chitinous shell jointed where limbs flexed. It was following him, like a dance and he moved his other hand up, so slowly, so carefully. It still stung from the blow that had disarmed him. As long as he moved slowly, neither towards or away it was willing to follow. Curiosity. Daniel turned his hand, palm up and the thing mirrored him, palm (palm?) down over his hand, claws flexing down to touch his wrist. Then flexing that little bit more that drew beads of red on his skin and a short hiss of pain. Its jaws opened again, that nightmare inner jaw pushing forward towards his face and Daniel felt it tense in front of him, felt the shift of weight more than saw it, shut his eyes and felt the scream bubbling in his throat and Frank's voice cut the silence between them.

"Duck! Get down now! Catch, you motherfucker CATCH!"

Daniel let himself go limp, dropped to the ground and rolled the way years of practice had taught him and there was a horrible squealing sound, rising into a shriek he'd never imagined could exist. He kept rolling away, looking up, and it took an instant to register because he'd half expected to see claws coming for his eyes but there it was, writhing and shrieking as something brilliant spat and burned in its grasp. The creature contorted, jerking its burning limb and hissing drops splattered and ate at greenery, dirt, at his jacket. Frank yelped and Daniel was distantly aware of the man close by, ripping away his jacket before he grabbed Daniel's shoulders and dragged him further away from the creature.

It twisted, squealed again and crashed into the green, disappearing as fast and as suddenly as it had appeared. Daniel lay panting, tasting bile and hearing the roaring pulse slowly fade in his ears. The green and sun-splashed buildings suddenly blurred and cleared as he blinked at tears, scrubbed them from his eyes and sat up, trying to slow his panic-fast breathing, trying to gauge what was happening around him. Frank held his weapon now, circling, checking the jungle as Daniel gradually came back to himself. Nothing moved, though. The trees hung there now, staying trees, no vines or trunks uncoiling into shapes from hell.

Daniel took a breath, held it and shut his eyes, working to visualize every detail of the creature he'd just been a hairs' breadth from. Not from hell. Not supernatural. Real and solid and physical and something he could understand. WOULD understand. His wrist felt hot where it had pricked the skin.

He opened his eyes damn fast and stared down at the four little trickles tracing down his arm. The skin was a little red, but no worse than an insect bite. He giggled helplessly at the thought.

"Doc?" Frank backed towards him, touched his shoulder. "You hurt?"

"No." He had to try it again to get the word out loud enough to be heard. "Just a scratch. I'm okay."

"You are NOT okay, Doc. You are fucking out of your goddamn fucking tiny little mind!" Frank's eyes were a little wide but he sounded calm enough now. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Daniel blinked, blinked again. Looked up at him. "It didn't move when we were talking."

Frank stared at him a moment. "Has anyone ever told you that you are bug-fuck crazy?"

Daniel shook his head. "It hunted us by sight. It moved when we did, but not when we spoke. It sees motion."

"Uh huh. Umm. Can you walk?"

His slightly wary tone almost sent Daniel into giggles again, but he held the urge back and nodded. Levered himself to his feet and looked back at the greenery. "I lost my gun."

"Weapon," the airman corrected automatically. Frank nibbled his lip for a moment then shook his head. "It'll take us hours to find in this shit and I want to get out of here. Besides, you'll have to shoot them with something a hell of a lot bigger than that little 9mm if you want to make a dent."

Daniel studied his grim expression, then nodded. "What did you do to it?"

Frank turned away, hoisting up his pack again. He grinned at Daniel over his shoulder. "Thermite. When you said it saw motion I figured, hey, let's play catch."

"And you think I'M crazy?" Daniel goggled. "Why didn't you just shoot it?"

"You have no idea how funny that sounds coming from someone with your rep." Frank edged back into the greenery, studying the branches above them now much more closely. "I got a little look at 'em before, remember? You shoot 'em and they spray this crap that burns."

Daniel paused, studying the back of his hand and thinking about that for a moment. Thinking about Frank breaking, hiding in the ship. About Frank standing still and, by god, trusting him instead of running for his life. A chill ran down the archaeologist's spine at the thought. He cleared his throat. "Thank you."

"Hell, Doc, we've got to stick together. Besides, I hear O'Neill'd make those things look like puppydogs if I got you killed."

He almost let it go at that, but couldn't. Not quite yet. "I don't mean that. I mean, I do mean that but . . . thank you for trusting me."

Frank stopped and turned around, facing him squarely. His eyes were intent. "You've been hauling your ass through the gate for what, four years?"

"Almost five." Daniel was puzzled.

"You ever see anything like that shithead?"

Daniel shook his head, shivered. "I wanted to turn tail and run." He didn't add, didn't need to add, that he could understand why anyone would want to turn and run.

Frank nodded sharply. "But you didn't run. You got it into position."

"What else could I do?" Daniel shook his head. "It would have killed you!"

"Not the point." Frank suddenly didn't seem nearly so young as Daniel had thought. His eyes were calm, hard. "I don't give a damn if you're Air Force, grunt or squid, Doc. You're SGC. Hell, you and me are all that's left of SG-10."

Daniel stared at him, listening to the meaning behind the words. He slowly nodded, just once. There was a tight feeling in his chest, strange, but kind of warm too. Warm, but too intense, just a little too much. He backed away from it. "Does this mean you'll stop herding me now?"

A grin slowly stretched across Frank's face and he fell in next to the archaeologist. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Doc."

He snorted down his nose. "Do they send all of you to a class for it or something?"

"They send me to lots of classes," was the disingenuous answer.

"I mean sheepdog classes. You do know that civilian is not a synonym for helpless idiot, don't you?"

"'scuse me?" Frank pretended to clean out an ear. "I think I missed that. Did the guy who just waltzed with a monster tell me he's not a crazy fool who needs a babysitter?"

Daniel shoved his tongue into his cheek and worked to keep the smirk off his face. "They do train you, don't they? Anybody ever tell you you're an asshole, Airman?"

Frank gave him a shit-eating grin. "Thank you, Dr. Jackson. Coming from you that means a lot."

"Shoot me now."

\---------------------------------------------  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> livengoo@tiac.net takes credit for the story and any errors in fact. Ranger Bob, Amp, Heidi, Poss, all get credit for editing and information of perfect quality.


	5. Chapter 5

1999 May 18, 1630 approx. Earth standard

 

They'd needed rest. The Colonel had known it. After nearly a full day out training – had that only been the day before? – and the rush of coming back, briefing, gearing up, through the gate, and on, they'd needed the rest, needed to be alert. So they'd slept until nearly what passed for noon on this wonderful little bit of real estate. Tried to call Daniel again and failed. And every second since then they'd been hacking through houseplants on steroids.

And now, Sam was picturing something drastic. Something uncomfortable. Not fatal. She'd never wish Colonel O'Neill dead, but . . . debilitating foot fungus. A twisted ankle. Even just a really bad need to take a leak, yeah, something like that would be a perfect excuse for a break. Not much. A few minutes would be enough. Just so she could stop hacking away at branches and saplings and vines and weeds and every other expression for green growing things she'd come up with in the interminable period since their rest that they'd been slashing away.

In the end, it was a cross street that saved the Colonel from horrible, imagined jock itch. His growled order sounded like music. "Take five, people. Carter, repeater time."

"Yessir." Perfect soldier, perfectly delivered, and thank God she didn't talk in her sleep. Shrugging her shoulders to resettle her pack, she moved into the area Teal'c had broken for them, looking up into a sky growing dark and clotted with clouds. She sighed and tried to find a place where she could sight down both streets, judging it by the towers lining what had once been a road. If they really were on SG-10's path out, they'd hit a repeater on their road. Maybe. If the sight-lines were clean. If not, if SG-10 had gotten creative with their repeaters . . . well. She'd rather maximize her chances.

It was shady in the middle of the street, hazy-bright on the side that was still in light and dim on the other. The dark holes of what must have been windows made her think of rotted teeth, empty eye sockets. And there were those clumps, swirling gray messes that had to be huge, plastered on the building sides. The Colonel was right. They looked just like hornet's nests. Even in the sick heat, a chill ran down her spine thinking of hornets that big.

Odors hung rank in the humid air. Sam smelled her own sweat soaking her clothes, smelled green things, old and new. The scent of flowers left dead in a vase. There had to be years of rotting plants on the ground. Scent of fresh sap, acrid and sharp from the cuts their machetes had made, and underlying it all, the ozone smell of approaching rain. Perfect. Just perfect. Sweat down the middle of her back and now she could look forward to getting drenched. Please, please, let Daniel be somewhere safe and sound, and maybe even dry.

The Colonel and Teal'c were prowling. The back of her neck prickled with their nerves and her own. Sam left one hand securely gripped on her MP-5, tugging the radio up with the other. "Airman Rossiter, come in . . ." The static was just as heavy as it had been last time she'd tried. Sam repeated the call, running through a mental checklist of reasons for them not to answer. Repeater knocked out. Check but they'd moved into what had to be a new area and there HAD been repeaters there for that first call. Channel changed. She flipped over to B and tried it again. "Rossiter. Daniel. Come in." Come on, come on . . . they might have the wrong channel too but they must be in a new area. She rubbed at the greasy sweat on her forehead, shifting foot to foot.

And saw something move out of the corner of her eye.

Oh hell oh fuck but it was fast! Behind her the Colonel shouted and Teal'c's staff weapon charged and she spun, letting the radio go to see something big and gray and shiny-spotted. Ugly and big, and Teal'c's staff was suddenly airborne, its bolt sizzling off into treetops. Teal'c himself was . . . smothered. She heard a hoarse scream and it took a second to understand it was Teal'c's voice. No clear shot, no safe way to shoot the bastard that had wrapped itself around her friend, goddamn it but there just wasn't a shot!

Sam circled, trying to get an angle, trying to see clear. Everything felt like it was moving so slowly, but so fast all at once, combat speed. Adrenaline speed. Lifting her feet high to keep from tripping over the vines, eyes trying to track both the narrow little patch they'd cleared and the looming green hell all at the same time. Trying to get a solid look at the writhing mass of man and thing that was Teal'c and the damned horror wrapped around him. She saw it in parts; a sleek, mottled head held at the end of Teal'c's straining, brown arm. A tail that made cruel, whistling sounds as it whipped through the air. Clawed hands, charcoal gray, digging into . . . Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Teal'c was screaming, now, twisting his body side to side as the thing slashed at his belly, trying to keep it from getting a good grip.

"Get off him!" The Colonel's voice, loud and sharp. She had an angle over Teal'c's shoulder, a shot at the head but something made her stop . . .

Colonel O'Neill came flying in from the side, slamming the metal barrel of his weapon into what had to be its face and it hissed. Like steam from a vent, it hissed and turned for just an instant. Sam took her shot, hitting the long, melon-shaped head, and Teal'c screamed again, ripping himself loose as it squealed, thrashed, reached out for him with red-stained claws. The Colonel wasn't in position to fire as it spun, coiled in and struck. Sam was tracking it, ready to fire again, but Teal'c was rolling, wrapped tight around his own middle and rolling blind and she had to move, jump sideways from him, as the Colonel hit it again, still shouting, "This way, asshole!"

Shit, shit, shit! It lunged at him, grabbed him in those hands and the jaw drove at his face. She could see it shove toward him! The Colonel slammed the barrel of his weapon into its maw and it squealed again, teeth gnashing at the metal. His forearm flexed, finger on the trigger but Teal'c was shouting, "No! NO!"

"Sir!"

"It is acid! Its blood burns!"

Oh crap! "Don't pull the trigger Sir!"

"Give me a better idea, Carter!" His voice was tension-high, arms straining to keep it out of his face.

"Teal'c, circle around it, get in close." Not sure, not sure, God help her but she thought she saw the staff thrown somewhere . . . YES! YES! Sam lunged for the staff, seeing Teal'c doing what she didn't think she could have done, doing what she asked and circling in. The things head wobbled, turned for an instant from the Colonel. And suddenly let him go to whirl on the Jaffa.

"Teal'c! DROP!" Screaming now as she got her hands around the staff, brought it up and to bear on the filthy thing. "DROP AND ROLL!"

Electric charge, just an instant's spark and then she fired. Charged and fired again. Hearing screams and knowing some of them weren't human, fired again and it was down, thank God above, wildly arching and spitting, making that hissing sound and a scream that felt like she should have blood dripping from her ears. Teal'c was clear and now the Colonel brought his weapon to bear. The familiar chatter of rapid fire drowned out any other sound. She'd never thought she'd find it sweet but she almost sobbed with relief as the thing on the ground thrashed and danced, then writhed more slowly, then finally fell still.

The ringing in her ears was so loud she wasn't sure he'd stopped firing for a second. Not until she registered that it wasn't moving, under either its own power or impact, anymore. To one side she saw Teal'c stagger up onto his feet, arms wrapped tight around himself, face haggard with pain. The Colonel stood panting, eyes darting from the thing on the ground to the jungle and back again. Carter slowly lowered the staff, looking around. Not really seeing anymore. Faintly, through the ringing she could just hear Colonel O'Neill. "Crap. Have I mentioned that I hate bugs?"

"I concur." Sam read Teal'c's lips, hearing the rumble of his reply faintly as her ears popped. She yawned.

"Bored, Major? So. What the hell is it?"

"Huh?" She looked at him, at the bug, at him, and snapped her mouth shut when she realized her jaw had been hanging. "Like you said. It's a bug." A big, ugly, mean bug.

The Colonel visibly sighed. "You're the scientist, Carter. So . . . do science! What can you tell me about it?"

He had to be joking. She studied his lined face, the one eyebrow arched in inquiry, and debated telling him that he needed a big can of Raid. In the end she toed the military line and played the "Dr. McCoy" card. "I'm not an entomologist, Sir. I'm an astrophysicist. This is . . . it's too big to be atomic and too little to be planetary. Daniel'd know more about bugs than I would."

The Colonel ran a hand over his grizzled hair. "That'd be fine except for two things. Daniel's not an entomologist either. And Daniel's not here either. You are. As far as I know there aren't any ant-o-mologists on any of the other SG teams. The only one we've got is probably dead or a snakehead right now. So that leaves you, Carter. You're my token scientist."

She blinked at him. She could feel the look on her face and knew it wasn't her best one by a long shot. It was the dumb blond one, the one she hated wearing, but there you go. She studied the bug again. It was ugly. It was big. It was . . . she frowned, thinking. "It was going after Teal'c."

"I know that, Carter. I don't need a scientist for that."

Teal'c, however, seemed to recognize what she was saying. "I believe that Major Carter may be commenting on the fact that it was distracted from a known danger. It was in combat with you, O'Neill, and it recognized you as a danger and it had wounded me, yet it turned from you to attack me."

She could see the wheels turning in the Colonel's head. Hell, she could feel the wheels turning in her own head. The Colonel poked a toe at the thing on the ground and glanced up at the Jaffa. "It was distracted by you."

"No." Sam shook her head. Looked up and saw the same realization in Teal'c's eyes. "It wasn't distracted by Teal'c. It was distracted by Junior. I think . . . I think it sensed and attacked the Goa'uld."

"It hates snakes?" Colonel O'Neill rocked back and forth on his feet and studied the scratches teeth had left on his weapon. "Cool."

\------------------------------------------------------

1999 May 18, 2000 approx. Earth standard

He'd made a mistake. He always did this, let them know he'd been a weather guy. Fuckin' AFWA. And it was always a mistake. Because this always happened. Just like now. With the geek giving him shit.

"You could have told me. I'd have brought my raincoat."

Rossiter studied the sly humor on the other man's face. "I should've known. Weather guys always get the crap. Bad enough I gotta predict the weather on Earth but now I've gotta give you forecasts for some goddamn fuckin' alien weather too?"

"Sure. Doesn't the crystal ball work all over? I thought weather followed universal laws the same as gravity and the speed of light. That's what the astrophysicists tell me."

Rossiter snorted, grinning back at the archaeologist. "Yeah. Right. Meteorology is like chaos math and turbulence. You know something'll happen and you know probabilities -"

"Ah!" Jackson - no, Daniel, he corrected himself - held up a finger in a carefully executed pose. "No excuses. People jumped out of planes on your forecasts."

The Airman struck an equally pretentious pose. "If we need to jump out of a plane, Dr. Jackson, I assure you that my forecast will be correct."

"That old survival thing, huh?" Daniel had dropped the pose and turned back to the fire that was sputtering miserably in the drafty first floor storefront. Or what felt like a storefront. Who the hell knew? Maybe it was an alien tanning salon or whatever back when this place was someplace instead of a ruin.

Huh. Rossiter watched Daniel feed trash into the fire for a moment and gave in to curiosity. "What do you think this was?"

The archaeologist glanced around, answering in a mildly curious voice, "I have no idea."

"Thought that was your job, you being an archaeologist and all." Rossiter felt a smile grow on his face. "You know. I predict the weather -"

"More or less."

"And you figure out the buildings. More or less." The Airman chuckled, saw the white flash of an answering grin from Daniel. "Coffee ready yet?"

"I wish," growled the other man. "You miss fries. I miss coffee."

"Here." Rossiter tossed him a packet. "You're out?"

Daniel held the packet up between his finger and thumb as if it were a dead rat. "This isn't coffee. This is . . . freeze dried."

"Ah." The airman nodded sagely. "You're a coffee snob."

"I am not a snob. I am merely discerning."

"And you drink . . .?"

The archaeologist grimaced as he emptied the packet into the water heating over the meager flames. "I drink coffee. Range-fed, shade-grown, mountain bred beans tenderly nurtured by Guatemalan peasants, gently plucked and roasted over slow fires in the ancestral fire pits of their ancient Andean forebears."

"Like I said." Rossiter grinned broadly and grabbed a cup of admittedly lousy Air Force coffee.

"Don't you have real work to do instead of sitting around and criticizing my taste in comestibles?" Daniel glared over the frames of his glasses.

"Secured site. Check. Ate dinner, check." Rossiter ticked off on his fingers. "Tried to raise SG-1, etc. Check. Made sure archaeologist had sufficient caffeine. Check."

"You're related to Jack O'Neill, aren't you?"

"Please!" Rossiter rolled his eyes. "I'm a PJ. We rescue people like O'Neill."

"Um." Daniel eyed him. "I'll be sure to tell him that when I see him."

Rossiter sighed. "Hell, Daniel, I'll tell him myself. And then offer to let you have his children to thank him for getting our asses out of here."

"Nice of you to admi - HEY!" Daniel straightened up and glared fiercely. "You can do the child part yourself."

"Sorry, against regs." Rossiter shrugged. "What can I say? You're civilian. Ergo . . ."

"Nice use of Latin," groused the other man, feeding a little more trash into the fire. He sighed loudly. "I miss coffee. If we're stuck here too much longer I may even start missing your french fries."

"Fries rule, Doc. So seriously. You got to have some idea what this place was?"

"A store? Offices?" Daniel sighed, looking around them. "The upper floors tend to have smallish windows, which suggests a value placed on privacy. Though it could just mean their building materials had structural limits. Though that'd make these open first floors a little unlikely . . ."

Rossiter listened to him muse, seeing the worried scowl ease on his forehead. They'd both pushed themselves hard to get away from the critter's hunting grounds, if it had hunting grounds, and they needed rest. It would have been easier if O'Neill and his crew had just answered the phone when it rang, but all they'd gotten over the radio was static. Rossiter sipped his coffee, fighting the urge to try the radio again as Daniel thought out loud.

"Wide streets. Paved, suggests ground transport at a high rate of speed as does size of the city. Large, densely settled population with obviously high technological achievements. Elevators. Construction. But the Stargate was still an important symbol. They put it in the central square, you know."

The sudden pause in narration caught his attention. "Uh, no. I didn't really think about it."

"Oh yes. The stargate was located just about in the center of what's left of the urban sprawl, at the nexus of several major roadways. Place of pride." Daniel fiddled with his cup of coffee, continuing quietly, "It must have been a terrible shock to them when they figured out what the Goa'uld were like."

"Yeah." Rossiter blinked. "Back at . . . when we started, I remember thinking about how I'd have felt if a pyramid landed in Dayton."

"You're from Ohio?" The glasses flashed as the other man looked up.

"Yeah. My girl still lives there." Rossiter sighed. "She's gonna move out to the Springs after she finishes college."

He almost asked Daniel if he had a girl, but remembered just in time. Bit down on his tongue and mentally kicked himself for his words. "Sooo. These bug people."

"Don't conflate them. There are the bugs and there are the people. And there were these people . . ." Daniel waved in a circle. "It's very unlikely that they're the same."

"How do you know?"

"Look at the doors. They're too narrow for one of the bugs to be comfortable going through them. And the right angles seem wrong, somehow." Daniel shrugged, stood up and wandered over to stare gloomily out at the rain. Rossiter could see the shiver run through his shoulders as he glanced around the room where they'd found shelter, taking in the gaping walls, open to the outside and the shadowed inner surfaces. Unrecognizable trash cluttered the inner walls and doors, looming in almost-familiar outlines. "They were bipeds, you know."

Rossiter took another careful look around their shelter, making sure nothing moved. He sighed and muttered a short prayer to the Virgin before grabbing his radio and getting as close to the outside world as possible without getting drenched. Leeward side, and damn happy that the big skyscrapers at least kept the rain off them.

"Are they answering?" Daniel stood in the shadows, his pale hand stark as he ran it over a wall. His eyes were large and dark, the mercurial laughter gone as he watched Rossiter try to call the search teams.

"C'mon . . ." Whispering curses to computers had never worked for him, but radios might be more responsive. Daniel wandered over, holding up crossed fingers and listening wistfully, but the static never cleared. Rossiter finally dropped his hand, shaking his head. "No one's picking up the phone out there."

Daniel worried at his lower lip, thinking. "We haven't gotten through in more than a day. We are moving in the right direction . . .?"

"Yes. We are moving in the right direction." Rossiter ran his fingers back through his curly hair. Sighed. "The way it works, Doc, is the repeaters pick up the signal in the line of sight. We've been sticking to the one big avenue in and we know we dropped a shitload of toasters out there to repeat the signals to SG-4 and SG-9. We made contact before, so the repeaters were there then."

"Which means they're not there now." Daniel stared out into the rainy, jungle-choked street. Gray light reflected off his glasses. "They're taking them out."

"We don't know that," Rossiter corrected him. "They could be damaged. We both could just keep getting our channels wrong."

"For more than a day?" Daniel's expression was a little too carefully neutral. Rossiter felt safe assuming a skepticism that he grudgingly shared.

"I know. But the alternative . . ."

"Is that our friends are disabling them somehow."

Rossiter shuddered at the idea. "Do you think they sense radio signals? Is that how they found them?"

Daniel didn't answer immediately, still looking out into the rain. "I don’t know. I hope not. But . . . "

He trailed off into silence, expression blank but eyes flicking back and forth rapidly as if tracking motion Rossiter couldn't see. "Doc? But what?"

"It had keen eyesight. It tracked by motion." Daniel turned away and wandered back towards the heaped junk in the back of the room. "And I think it was smelling me. When it came in so close. It wasn't in position to attack, but it opened its mouth like a cat -"

"Didn't look like any cat I've ever seen." The airman shook his head at the image. "Here kitty kitty ."

"No, yes, no . . ." Daniel held a hand out, waggling it like he couldn't make up his mind on something. "I didn't say it acted like a cat. It acted like an insect."

"Bugs from outer space," muttered Rossiter, eying the wet greenery. The skin between his shoulder blades crawled at the memory of having that thing at his back.

"Maybe." Daniel's voice sounded uncertain. He padded over to stand next to the airman, looking out. "I can't think of how something like that could evolve in a place like this. I don't think it did evolve, not naturally. Not like that."

"You think the Goa'uld brought 'em? Plague of locusts and all that shit?"

Daniel snorted, amused. "No. That's the one thing I'm certain of. The Goa'uld who were on this world were trying to get out, to escape. Something brought down their ziggurat ship and I'd bet a month's pay that our locusts were responsible."

Rossiter tilted his head. "How you get that?"

Daniel blinked, eyes distant behind the lenses. Rubbed at his nose and shoved the frames back up his face. His voice was a little slow as he answered. "The armorers didn't find any sign of scorch or weapons damage on the external hull – all the damage was incurred during the fall. But something powerful tore through the control decks, scratched up the equipment. The damage traces were pristine – most of it had never been exposed to the environment. And there were those melted spots we couldn't figure out . . ."

"Ahhhh." Rossiter slumped back. "The spit."

"Yep. But I'm trying to figure out how they got here to start with. I mean, look at this place." He waved out at the ruined city.

"Real shithole. Between the Goa'uld and the bugs, this place hit the skids bad." Rossiter shook his head.

Daniel opened his mouth to answer, then stopped, mouth still open. Rossiter stared at him, caught by the funny look on his face. The half-formed word slowly changed to an "O", as the archaeologist's eyes widened. One hand came up, finger ticking back and forth as if he were ticking off silent points in his head. "Oh," he breathed aloud. "Oh my god."

"What?" Rossiter turned, scanning outside and then back, worried. The look of sick understanding on Daniel's face alarmed him. "What is it?"

"They did it to themselves." Daniel shut his eyes, shoved his glasses up to rub hard at the lids. "The poor bastards."

"They . . . they turned into the bugs?" Rossiter heard his own words and frowned, confused. "Umm, who's they? Who turned into the bugs?"

Daniel looked up, mouth drawn into a tight line. His voice was very soft. "No one turned into the bugs, Frank. But look around. The people who lived here are the same ones SG-9 made contact with. They're a lot like us. Gregarious, bipedal, omnivorous, and tribal. Parallel evolution. Even their cities look a lot like ours. But they're living in small hunter-gatherer tribes now. This city wasn't abandoned slowly, and it didn't die like a normal civilization. It suffered a catastrophic crash. Like somebody set off a bomb that'd kill all the people and leave the buildings intact."

"Huh," grunted Rossiter. Bugs. Bombs. He thought of fifties sci fi flicks and army ants and Goa'uld and tried to draw a connection but the dots and lines still weren't making much sense. "So . . . that gets us here . . . how? I still don't get it."

"Biological warfare." Daniel picked up a piece of trash off the floor, turning it in his hands as if he could figure out what it did. "I think the people here made the bugs. And the bugs killed the Goa'uld. And it's going out on a little bit of a limb here, but I think they made the bugs because of the Goa'uld. To kill the Goa'uld."

" . . ." It was Rossiter's turn to stare blankly out into the rain, thinking. Turning over the age and shape of the crashed Goa'uld ship, of the ruined city. Thinking through how his own people might react to invasion, how they had reacted to invasions even by other humans. And now it made sense. "Fuck. Genetic engineering. Bioweapons."

"Uh huh." Daniel nodded. "It danced with me."

Rossiter snorted and turned to eye the archaeologist. "You that hard up for a date? You gotta waltz with bugs?"

"Are you sure you're not related to Jack O'Neill?" Daniel polished his glasses, shaking his head. "It danced. Like bees or, I don't know, ants. I don't really know much about bugs but I do remember that some of them form colonies, like complex organisms. And they dance to communicate."

Rossiter started to answer, froze, thinking it through, and slowly felt the shape of the idea come clear. "I wondered about that. Why it didn't tear off your face."

"I didn't attack it or flee." Daniel crossed his arms, hands gripping his biceps tightly. "I mimicked it. I acted like another bug. It's anthropomorphizing of course, but I think it was confused. So it danced with me and it smelled me."

"Breathalyzer," Rossiter responded dryly.

"I wonder what it eats. Besides Goa'uld." Daniel adjusted his glasses with a fussy little motion.

"Us." Rossiter swallowed against a sudden sour tightness in his throat.

"No." Daniel sounded tired but certain. "No. That can't be right. There aren't enough bipeds to support a hive colony. Not in groups big enough to make sense. And those jaws didn't look right for it."

"Looked pretty fucking ugly to me, Doc." The MP5 in his hands was suddenly a very reassuring thing to hold onto. "It's gotta eat."

"And it's got to reproduce. And do whatever else it does." Daniel sighed. "So much I don't understand. And there's no one left to ask."

Rossiter considered that. "When you get right down to it that's the thing that really counts. What's it really matter what these things eat or think? What matters is that they kill."

Daniel looked like he wanted to argue, but finally he nodded agreement. "Do you think it's safe to get moving again? I . . . I'm ready to go home."

Rossiter focused on him, then looked back out at the rain. "Yeah. Sure. And hey, we get back? You're buying the french fries."

______________________________________

His abdomen still ached. Teal'c flinched every time he twisted, swinging the machete into the knotted vines. It was a relief - it distracted him from the crawling sensation of something watching him and worse, the thrashing of his larva. Teal'c slashed viciously at a sapling. Underfoot the greenery snapped and crunched as he stomped it down, breaking the path for his comrades.

He could hear them. He could hardly help but hear them - their panting was loud enough even a Tau'ri could have heard them. He had smelled them too, until the rain poured down, soaking them all. He drew a deep breath, preferring his teammates' familiar smell to the rank, vegetable rot around them and the fainter tang of metal. Beneath it all there hung a scent, whether on his skin or on the air he didn't know but it was sharp and bitter and made the skin of his scalp and neck twitch. He paused, looking up to locate the gnarled clumps that bulged from the towers.

The jungle was thinner here, more nuisance than serious barrier. He hacked his way forward into a crossroads, looking around thoughtfully. O'Neill came up beside him, wiping rain and sweat from his face. "See anything?"

"There." Metal glinted dully. Teal'c forced his way through the brush, yanking the vines from around the object he'd seen.

"Jesus." O'Neill whistled, low and long. "The ugly little fuckers sure know how to trash a piece of machinery."

What could he say to that? He settled for "Indeed."

The Tau'ri reached out to poke at the wreckage of the radio repeater but Teal'c grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Be cautious. It smells contaminated."

"Biowar?" O'Neill's eyebrows climbed.

"Acid." Major Carter leaned in close over Teal'c's shoulder. "Ugh. Maybe they can dispense it at will."

O'Neill's face twitched and he scrubbed his hands over it. "Remind me not to get up close and personal with one of those assholes again. Euugh!"

"Teal'c, what do you make of it?" The Major's voice was soft, thoughtful. "Trashing a repeater like this . . ."

"Would suggest either an understanding of its function or a response to its emissions." The Jaffa nodded.

"Ooooh no." O'Neill was scowling at them. "Oh, hell. Tell me these things don't know what the repeaters are for. TELL me they don't understand this shit! Hell, how CAN they! Half the time I don't understand this shit."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow and shared a look with Major Carter. She blinked. The two of them turned in unison to look to O'Neill. Teal'c enjoyed the expression on his face as he worked out their response and his scowl deepened. "I get enough of this shit from Daniel. Can't you two find something useful to think about. Like why giant alien cockroaches fucked over our repeaters?"

Major Carter sighed. "I very much doubt they know what they're for, Sir. They seemed," she paused, as if searching for words then went on, "non-literate to me. But that suggests they can sense radio waves as well as light."

"Umm, at the risk of sounding stupid - AH! -" O'Neill waved a warning finger at Teal'c, "how do we know they sense light?"

" . . ." Major Carter opened her mouth, then hesitated. Teal'c poked at the repeater thoughtfully. "The one that attacked me had eyes."

"Right. It's got eyes." Major Carter nodded briskly. "And it hunts by day. It certainly had enough opportunities to hunt us over the last two nights if it were nocturnal. And if it really is similar to wasps and bees then, well . . ."

"If it really is similar to wasps and bees then we need a big-ass can of Raid." O'Neill sighed. "Settle down for a few and let's see if Dannyboy's answering the phone yet. Carter, you think of any magic juice or rayguns that kill bugs, you let me know. Teal'c . . . I never thought I'd actually wish we could ask Junior something but think about if you ever heard of anything like this before. Maybe there's some deep, dark Ghoul X-Files someplace that keeps track of shit like this."

"I will endeavor to recall any folklore or rumors, O'Neill." Teal'c bowed slightly and waited for a heartbeat's span. "However, if this is to be part of my duties, perhaps we could seek a Scully to assist me?"

Two Tau'ri heads swiveled to stare at him and Teal'c could barely keep the expression of innocent attention plastered to his face. Only a lifetime of training and discipline permitted him to deliver the line properly.

"Uh, right." O'Neill nodded and then shook his head as Teal'c had seen dogs shake off water.

The moment's relief was good, allowing him to focus more closely now. If the Goa'uld ever learned the true value of laughter they'd become much more dangerous. On the other hand, if they learned the value of laughter then they would not be Goa'uld. He stared out, looking for motion but his attention was on O'Neill's attempts to raise their teammate.

"SG one-zero-niner this is SG one niner . . ." He heard the phrase repeated

The static suddenly broke. Teal'c spun at the sound of voices, seeing Major Carter look up at the same time. He had to force himself to turn back to the dangerous green as she asked, "Is it them?"

"SG1! Oh thank Christ, thank God . . ." The voice over the radio was a woman's. Teal'c tilted his head to listen, feeling an uneasy shiver run down his spine.

O'Neill's voice was curt. "This is SG one niner. Please identify."

"This is SG-4. This is Elaine Stromburg. Please God you have to help us."

Teal'c shut his eyes for a moment, then looked out to the green. There was a long pause, and then a sigh. And O'Neill's voice growled, "Go on."

The three of them stood, waiting, listening. To the wrong voice.  
__________________________________________________________

"Shit." Jack O'Neill stood at the crossroads and stared west. He wanted to slump, to just sit down and scream frustration. He turned instead, finding his 2IC to the right. "Carter, get out the map."

Things were going to shit. He knew it. He'd developed a finely honed instinct for it over the years. Shit. Ess aitch eye tee. O'Neill stared at the cross street, plotting the quickest route to his goal. Carter had retreated to the shelter of one of the ruins. She had the UAV survey unrolled and was weighting the corners down. No doubt about it. This day just couldn't get much worse.

The cloudburst had softened to drizzle, gray light gleaming from wet leaves. Behind him, Carter had finished - no more rustling sounds, just them and the rain on leaves. Her voice was hushed. "Sir?"

O'Neill rubbed hard at his eyes then turned, climbing over a low wall to join her. The map was colorful, red overlays of street definition on the photographic survey. It looked a lot more straightforward from the air than it was down here on the ground. O'Neill dropped onto his haunches, studying it. "SG-4 is here." He planted a finger squarely.

Carter's face was carefully blank but the look in her eyes was worried. "How did she know?"

"Same way we know where we are." He wanted to make it sarcastic, make a joke of it, but his heart wasn't in it. "Landmarks. These areas -" he circled the research territory SG-4 had covered, "are pretty well mapped. I'd say here be monsters about the rest but it sounds like everywhere be monsters."

It was a lame attempt. He knew it. So did she and the answering smile was small and perfunctory. Her eyes flicked back down to the map. "That's nowhere near where Daniel's supposed to be."

And that was the crux of the matter. Trust his 2IC to cut right to it. O'Neill shut his eyes a moment but it didn't help. He could still see the map. Hell, he could still hear Stromburg's voice begging for help. He opened them again, met her eyes and hated what he saw there. "This is the shortest way to get to them."

She looked back down at the route he traced. "That's not strictly true, Sir. This . . ." she pointed, "is the quickest route and it's SG-6's."

He clenched his teeth. "And it's right through a line of those goddamn bugs, Major. You heard Stromburg. They've been running west under attack."

"We already have an assignment, Sir." Her stolid tone held no challenge but he knew it was there below the surface. And he didn't blame her for it in the least.

"Stromburg says she's got a cordon of bugs around her, Carter. She's no fool. Honest to god, if I thought there was a way for someone else to get to them, I'd hand it off. You lay it out for me, Major. If there's a way I haven't thought of I'll jump at it." He meant every word and she knew it. He could see that in the way her shoulders squared and she bent her attention to map. And he saw her come to the same conclusions as she stared at the damn thing.

But she tried. Give her credit. "SG-3 could cut laterally. It'd be a longer distance but an easier hike. The intel looked like 4 had been roaming, like they'd cut back the brush more, made a better road in."

"03's holding our six, Carter. That'd leave the gate unguarded in hostile territory. And like you said, it's a longer distance with no guarantee the brush actually was cut back."

Blue eyes came up to meet his. He could see the muscles along her jaw flex. "They've been running clear so far."

"They've got two wounded bad and four civilians." He kept the words neutral, neither soft nor harsh.

"Daniel's a civilian too!"

"Don't you think I know that?" He couldn't hold neutral tone any longer. "Damn it, Carter! If I thought I had a good alternative do you really think I'd sidetrack like this?"

Her lips tightened but they both knew the answer. He could see it in her face. When he looked over his shoulder at Teal'c, he saw her disapproval mirrored. He steeled his expression to keep his own doubts and distaste off his face and gave it to her level and calm. "We've got a distress call, Major. We know where they are. We know they're under attack. We're going to their aid."

"There's got to be another way! We can't just abandon . . ." She trailed off, looking from him to the map and back.

"Tell me. Give me a way and I'll take it." He dug his fingers into his temples, rubbing hard. Come on, he urged her in his thoughts. Give me a good reason, a way out. "Christ."

"Daniel's . . ." Her tone faltered when he looked up at her. Then her gaze leveled. "Military value, Sir. Daniel's a unique resource – he's a primary intelligence asset. Dr. Stromburg's valuable but she's not the only materials scientist out there."

He could see what it cost her, making that choice, and see her fighting to find a reason they could all live with. "And if I knew where he was, hell Carter, if I just knew for sure he's still alive, I'd make that choice. I'd give up Stromburg to get him out."

Her lips tightened to a thin, white line. He could see the tension in her body. "We can't just leave him out there!"

"We're not. We're swinging out of the way and we'll circle back."

"That's not good enough!" Her voice had gone sharp but O'Neill didn't call her on it. She was speaking for him too, in a way. "She's got more people and he's got just him and Rossiter! Two people against those things?"

"Two people who've already been out there three days with those things, and it's been 36 hours since we heard from them Carter." God, he was tired. She so seldom let him down. "We don't even know if he's still alive, let alone where he is. We do know Elaine Stromburg's got one incapacitated and four people walking including her."

"He's . . ." She gestured loosely, circling a region. And stopped, too honest to lie to herself, he supposed. He hoped. "He's Daniel, Sir. He can't be dead."

He just looked at her. Waited until she swallowed and her eyes dropped. She stared at the map again, and he could see her fighting to find a way. He held his tongue and gave her time, hoping she'd find it. Give him an out. "If we split up . . .?"

"No."

"Christ on a crutch, Teal'c!", O'Neill's heart nearly jumped out his throat. "Let a guy know when you're sneaking up, okay?"

"I did not sneak."

God, he could practically HEAR that eyebrow go up. O'Neill pivoted on one knee to look up at the Jaffa. "If that's not a sneak it's a damn good imitation."

"You and Major Carter were distracted." The big man looked out, around the clearing then back down at them. "The desire to continue on our present course is admirable and understandable, but it would be unwise to divide our forces. One, or even two of us could not have successfully met the challenge offered by even one of the 'bugs.' I would strenuously object to any such division."

"We could swing through the lower part of Daniel's possible range . . ." Carter's voice held a note of need and anxiety. She was trying so hard to find a solution.

Teal'c was looking back at her. O'Neill saw a tiny crease between his eyebrows suddenly smooth out as if he'd come to some decision. "I think perhaps you forget that Daniel Jackson is far from helpless. He has organized militias and is adept at survival."

O'Neill felt his face twist in a grimace almost before he knew he'd done it. "You're not helping, Big Guy. Daniel's 'militia' was a batch of kids waving clubs and knives."

"Yet you, yourself, told me he and Sha're organized the uprising against Ra. And he has survived in situations of great hardship. I, too, desire to go to his aid however were I to judge who is more capable of surviving unassisted I would choose Daniel Jackson over Dr. Stromburg."

O'Neill blinked, considering that. And looked back to Carter, hoping against hope that she'd rally at least one solid, really good reason why he needed to go after Danny and not Stromburg and her sitting ducks.

"Military value?"

And that wasn't it. "He's a unique individual, but a team of guys could replace him." He hated himself even as he said it. Disagreed with himself even as he said it. And logic said he was right. "It's five people with a known location, versus two, status unknown."

"If he were in your National Guardians, would you be so quick to assume him at risk?"

Carter made a face. O'Neill turned back to look at Teal'c again. "That's National Guard, Teal'c. And give me a break, Daniel's better than that! He's, oh, at least . . ."

"Coast Guard," Carter jumped in. O'Neill turned to study her face, seeing something shuttered in her eyes, but also seeing a decision made and accepted. "He's at least worth a Coastie, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah." O'Neill nodded agreement, meeting her eyes and seeing the cost of a hard choice, a price he knew too well. "And like you said, Carter. He's Daniel. Hard to kill."

And that was true, as far as it went. O'Neill watched her roll up the map and tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was betraying a friend. Oh, yeah. This day had definitely gone to shit.

\------------------------------------------  
TBC


	6. Tarantella 6

"Shit." Daniel Jackson growled and waved at the flies buzzing around his head. "SHIT!"

"Would that be the same as crap, oh fuck, or is it just plain shit?" Frank paused and looked back at him. His smile was strained, but genuine.

"It would be great, steaming piles of llama dung. Mastaba fecal deposits. Coproliths. SHIT!" Daniel stopped and rubbed his eyes, shoving his glasses up on his forehead. And then scowled at the greasy smudges his fingers, hair, hell, every inch of skin left on the lenses. He took them off and smeared the stuff thinner, squinting to check if he could actually see through them. "I'm sorry. It's just that . . ."

Frank grinned a bit more widely as Daniel waved the dirty glasses at him. "Just that it's hot and raining and your glasses are dirty and your BDU's are itchy after three or four days?"

"And my beard's itchy and I want a shave and a shower and I want to not smell like this and I'm afraid to take my boots off anymore because I'm not sure I'd survive the reek. Yeah. All of that." Daniel hitched his pack up. "And I'm annoyed because this is NOT my pack but just the first pack we grabbed. And every time I put my feet down it's like crusty snow - this junk holds then sags and I nearly trip. And it stinks. And it's buggy. And scary. And I am really, really sick of this place."

"Good man!" The airman gave him a thumb's up. "Don't bottle it up. Let it out, Doc. Tell me how you really feel."

Daniel scratched viciously at the stubble on his chin and threw back his head. "I HATE THIS FUCKING PLACE! NUKE IT 'TIL IT GLOWS!"

"Feel better now?" Frank turned and fell into step next to him. "Primal swear therapy always worked for me too. Just as long as the bugs don't hear us."

"The bugs don't hunt by sound. If they did, that one we fought would have gutted us." Daniel sighed. "Well. I'm still itchy and cranky but it did help a bit. Fuck. Merde. Ben zona. Taik! Dau'ul hauc! BOK!"

"Umm." Frank scratched behind an ear and looked impressed. "Okay. I caught about half of those. Variations on a theme, huh?"

"Yeah." Daniel suddenly beamed, feeling tension leak out of his shoulders. "You're right. That felt good."

"Good. 'Cause I'm about to rain on your parade."

Daniel looked up into the drizzle. "Like this stronzo planet can't do that all on its own?"

"Sorry." The airman winced theatrically. "The finishing touch is that something's following us."

"What?" Daniel spun to stare into the jungle behind them then spun back. "Should I have not looked?"

Frank had bitten down on both lips and was making a muffled snicker that rapidly grew to a full belly laugh. Daniel stared at him. "I thought you said we were being followed. Aren't you worried?"

"I was when we picked up the tail." The para-jumper looked back over his shoulder then shrugged and kept marching. "But it's been following us since this morning and it hasn't made a move yet. Getting worried just tires you out unless you can do something about it."

Daniel opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and shook his head. "I guess. But still . . ."

"Still, those bugs are damn scary?" Frank met his eyes and nodded back. "Yep. But we beat the last one. And I figure if this was a bug it'd have come to visit by now. There's gotta be some other critters on this shithole of a planet. I mean, what do things usually eat around here?"

"Huh. Not a burger and fries at least."

"Don't be dissin' the fries, Doc. That's my comfort food you're talking about."

Daniel nodded, falling quiet again. He caught himself trying to hear their uninvited guest but the patter of the rain drowned it out. Frank paused at each cross street, trying to call SG-1, but after a while Daniel almost wished he wouldn't. It was too disappointing to hope and then hear only static time after time. "Why do you keep trying, Frank? I mean, if they haven't answered yet . . ."

The airman hesitated then pointed ahead to the next crossing. "The radios only work on line of sight unless you've got a repeater or a UAV to bounce 'em off, right?"

Daniel frowned. "Why? I know we don't always need repeaters for the radios to work. Is that something about this world?"

Frank pointed up towards the sky. "Usually you get tropospheric scatter, lets you go way past line-of-sight, but this lovely shithole has some crappy atmospheric and solar conditions."

"Let me guess. No tropospheric scatter?"

"Welcome to line of sight land, Doc."

The archaeologist nodded, eager for something to distract him from thoughts of what could have happened to his team. "That first call we made – you think the repeaters were working or maybe there was a UAV?"

"Probably a UAV. Or that's what I'm hoping." Frank swallowed, eyes distant for a moment. He shook himself. "With a UAV we could have been on different streets and it wouldn't matter. With repeaters we'd know SG-1 was on this street, but I think they're on a different north-south boulevard than us. So if we are, then we need to get to a cross street and have repeaters between us."

"Ahhh." Daniel nodded again. "I see. You can't count on a UAV coming by just as you need it, so you put in repeaters. But they only work if you're in the line of sight. Corner to corner, in a line of sight down the streets."

"You're not as slow as everybody says!" Frank grinned at him. "We get back, I tell you what. I'll take you up and teach you to jump."

Daniel shuddered. "Oh, I've jumped before. It was a . . . chilling experience."

"Great! Then it's a date. You and me and the big blue sky."

"Uhh. Right." Daniel hesitated a moment, stomping his feet down with each step, trying to get stable footing instead of the crust of decaying vegetation. "I don't know how the South American teams put up with this kind of stuff."

A puzzled look met his comment. "Stargate teams in South America? I don't follow."

"No. No, not a Stargate team. Archaeological teams." Daniel smiled then gasped as the footing sagged out from under him again. "In fact this is how some of the most important Mayan finds were discovered. People just . . ." the ground sagged under him again, "fell right into them."

Frank yelped as he sank into the mould up to his knees. "I am gaining a whole new respect for you guys. This is real disconcerting."

Daniel got a good grip on his wrist and braced himself, pulling, and yelped when the ground gave under him. "Oh shit!!!"

FALLING! Leaves and junk and flashing sense of light and dark as his stomach lurched and the world spun and oh hell he was -

Slammed down into mushy ground. Impact knocked the wind right out of him, left him sprawled, half-sunk in sour leaf rot and looking back up at a ragged break, leaves and water dribbling down. He followed a leaf dazedly, tracking it down what seemed like forever. What was probably thirty or thirty-five feet straight . . . down. Daniel shut his eyes and swallowed against a sour taste in the back of his throat and an ache that wasn't just his head but ran through his whole body until it even felt like his toes ached.

"Oh. Crap." Frank's voice was breathy. "I'll stick with being an airman. At least they give us a chute before they drop us out of shit."

"I miss deserts." Daniel groaned and twitched his hands and feet, momentarily satisfied with even that little motion. "This kind of thing never happened to me in deserts."

"Oooh." There was a rustling sound. "Nothing broken. You?"

Daniel gingerly rolled over and pushed himself up on both arms, looking up to the ceiling again. It wasn't very thick. A porous, treacherous layer of rotting branches and layered leaves let a dim glow reach the floor of the pit. The archaeologist sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "I've got a headache all over, but other than that I'm -"

"Fine?" There was a faint flash of white teeth in the gloom. "I know what you mean. I . . ."

His words trailed off. Daniel looked over at him more closely. "Frank? Are you okay?"

"Yeah." The airman stood slowly, hands braced on his knees. "Where . . . what the hell are those?"

Daniel looked over his shoulder, then turned to see more closely. "Umm. I think they're . . . eggs."

Frank straightened up as if he had to think about each vertebra. "Huh. Looks like we'll be making a couple omelets then."

"What?" Daniel patted the ground, finding his glasses. Omelets? He shook his head and fitted the glasses back onto his face. "How do we get out of here?"

Frank unshouldered his pack and knelt, opening it. "You got your flashlight?"

"Give me a minute." He bit back another groan and eased his pack off his back. It felt like it weighed a ton and the bruises on his back made him wonder if it wasn't full of rocks. Fishing through it for a flashlight convinced him that his bruises probably owed more to MRE's than rocks. Not that there was that much difference, now that he thought about it.

The flashlight rattled suspiciously. He looked up as Frank's suddenly went bright, making him squint. The switch on his slid freely but the bulb stayed dark. "Good thing your flashlight works. Mine's sort of . . ." He shook it noisily.

"You're no shining point of light. Got it." Frank shone the beam around them. It gleamed wetly off tiled walls. "Underground chamber. Maybe some kind of alien subway tunnel."

"Maybe." Daniel pulled his backpack on, scuffing at the detritus at his feet. Frank's flashlight beam played over the eggs, hundreds of them. His beam shone out, finding eggs, big ones. The pale ovoids were more than a foot high, nine or ten inches in diameter, in clutches that gleamed all the way back to the shadows until the beam was swallowed up in darkness in one direction, and rubble behind that blocked the tunnel they'd fallen into. "A subway is certainly a possibility. Do you see any way out?"

"Nothing. Just eggs and shit." The beam skimmed over the eggs, up along the walls, then suddenly swept back. "But nobody builds a tunnel without a way out of it."

Daniel shivered, watching the airman plow forward through leaf mould as if he were walking through high snow. "Didn't SG-4 say something about eggs? That they're bad?"

Frank hesitated, turned back and the flashlight glared into Daniel's eyes. "So we won't break any."

"No, I mean . . ." Daniel dragged a foot out of the mucky stuff and followed him, grimacing in the thick, humid air. "Maybe we should be more careful."

"Careful would have been not falling into a hole in the first place," grumbled Frank. "Sorry. Not your fault. But I don't see anything here that'll get us out of this shithole. I'm open to suggestions but it looks like the best way is down there."

"Right down the deep, dark hole. Of course," sighed Daniel. He scratched idly at his beard and grimaced, sidling up to an egg. They were laid out in a swathe, from one side of the tunnel to the other where light could fall, but no further. No eggs in the gloomy dark. Daniel moved to an outlier and crouched down next to it. "They're big."

"Too big to take with us. And I'll bet they taste lousy, Doc. C'mon." Frank beckoned and started to pick his way into the egg field. "The ground's a little firmer here. Sooner we get a move on the sooner we'll be out of here and back in the rain with the bugs.

No eggs in the gloom. Daniel frowned, still crouched by an egg. Like the others, it was about two feet high, full and ovoid. The shell was leathery and tough, but this one had hairline fractures and a dull surface. Not like the ones in the center of the field that looked resilient and, he tried to find a word and the best he could do was alive. The gray, overcast day didn't show them very well but the ones in the center of the tunnel looked . . .

Looked like they were opening up. A chill ran up Daniel's spine as he looked up and found Frank almost in the middle of the egg field. With his flashlight. Daniel opened his mouth to shout a warning, saw an egg just behind Frank slowly fold back, like flower petals. Leathery was right, leathery, flexible material. He rose quickly, unable to see what was in the egg and pretty sure that he really didn't want to know, either. Hissing a warning, "Frank, look out!"

The airman turned, light passing over an arc and more eggs peeled open in its path. "TURN OFF THE LIGHT, FRANK!"

"Why?" He hadn't seen them, he was looking back at Daniel and oh God, oh no, but he hadn't seen them!

"Turn it off! The eggs! They see the light and you have to turn it off!"

"See . . ?"

The sound was what he registered first. A horrible, wet impact and a sudden shriek cut off almost before it started. He couldn't understand what he was seeing at first. It made no sense. Frank dropped the flashlight and its beam spun crazily, reflecting off the tunnel walls and then lodged between two eggs, shining up, casting curved shadows on the far wall. Frank danced in the beam. That's what it looked like, a wild, spinning dance as he clawed at his face.

Or where his face should be.

Something clung to him; big and ridged and impossible to really see. Like a spider or a crab or something, its legs clutching the sides of the airman's head. Daniel found he was dodging sideways, away from the beam of light, trying to edge through the shadows and get closer to where Frank struggled. He shuddered as his clothes brushed over eggshells, wondered if they could hear them as well as see.

"Frank? FRANK!" He didn't know if the man could hear him, if he were still conscious under that . . . No more than thirty feet away and it might as well be miles. Daniel's stomach rolled, queasy and cold. He heard a soft panting sound and knew he was making it, felt each individual drop of sweat roll icy down his sides, heard a buzzing sound in his ears that didn't dull any of the other sounds, not the muffled gasps Frank made or the mushy sound of water dripping from leaves to land on eggs. Or the sound of his own heart, pounding in his chest.

It was dark along the edge of the tunnel but eggs were here too. Some of them were collapsed and brittle in the shadows. Important. That was important. Some distant, tiny part of his mind was taking notes as he crouched there, observing what was around him even as the biggest part of his mind thought it smelled blood and tasted copper, and knew, just knew, it was going to die and repeated prayers for safe passage in a dozen languages, to a dozen gods he was damn sure didn't exist.

The creature that had attacked them had ignored their voices. Seen them move. No eggs in the dark. Beware the light. Frank was huddled in the light, bent over with his face to his knees. With whatever was covering his face cradled against his knees. He was dying, god but he had to be dying with that thing on his face. Daniel shoved a foot forward and squeaked as a stick snapped under his sole. Keep away from the light. His hands were shaking. He could see them because he'd pulled them up to protect his face, fingers spread and palms out, held between his face and the eggs.

Eggs were closed. The eggs in front of him were closed. His hands shook so hard the sweat was falling off them, quick glitter of droplets in the reflected light. Keep away from the light.

In the back of his mind he suddenly understood that the eggs were laid out where the dim sunlight would trace a daily path from one side of the tunnel to the other, shining through the collapsed street and the web of roots and vines. Rainy day and no shadows, please, please, please, let the rain keep falling. Sun, sun, stay away, shine again some other day.

He wanted to giggle for an instant at the little nursery rhyme. Counting rhyme. Mother Goose, and the babbling voice in his head remembered that Mother Goose rhymes were political statements. Ring around the rosy. Plague. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

Frank had fallen over, pawing weakly at the thing on his face. Limulus. That's what it looked like. The underside of a horseshoe crab. He'd seen horseshoe crabs in markets in the Middle East. Couldn't remember why they'd sell them or why anyone would buy them but remembered seeing dozens of them piled in a stand, reeking in the sun.

Daniel froze, terrified, looking around to see if his shadow was falling on the eggs. No shadow. The eggs were closed, harmless. Harmless, he told himself. Not open. No light. Keep moving. He couldn't feel his legs and couldn't remember how to move. And if he stayed here someday, sometime, it'd stop raining and the sun would come out.

He started to move again. Crouching low as he got closer to Frank and the eggs that were open. A few of them were still open and oh, but he didn't want to see. Didn't want them to see him. That must be how they did it. Leathery, translucent shells, noted his mind, studying the edge of one. He could just see the edge of an open petal as he slunk past, low and holding his breath, eyes skittering back and forth, back and forth to be sure no shadow fell from him to its surface. The thing inside must see the shadow, see the play of light. Most species had a face, people or not, most animals had a face. Had ocular organs high on the body and intakes for food and air. It saw light and dark and lunged at the highest point.

The leafy muck was glued by something that held the eggs, something rough and ridged and dry that had been laid down between them. It felt strange under his fingers. Like spider's silk covered by thin glue. He didn't want to think about it couldn't help but think about it, praying as he crawled along on all fours now, low and sick from being so scared. Tasting bile in the back of his throat and needing to piss in the worst possible way. Instinct, that; the need to dump weight before flight. Zebras pissed as they ran. Stray facts were zinging through his mind as he got nearer to Frank. His shoulder brushed one of the open eggs, couldn't help it, it was so close. Something inside it stirred and Daniel froze, squeezing his eyes shut. But the dark was terrible too and he opened them a second later. Stared down at his hands, grimy and white-knuckled.

He saw spots for an instant, felt the ache in his chest and suddenly knew he'd been holding his breath. Slowly, slowly, he took in a breath. It smelled sour with that chem lab reek and beneath that he smelled urine's sharp tang. Not his own, he thought. He glanced up and saw Frank had rolled onto his back, chest rising and falling. Dark spot on his pants. Lying still. Daniel forced a hand forward, forced a knee to lift and move as he crawled closer and didn't hear the thing in the egg stir again. No sound but the dropping water and his pulse in his ears.

 

He lay flat across Frank's chest and reached past him, staying as low to the ground as he could. Reached out further than he'd thought he could and pawed at the flashlight, tugging the barrel of the thing back towards him and praying it would stay pointed away. He couldn't feel his fingers anymore, just the tingle of more fear than he'd ever thought he would know. He'd been shot before. Hell, he'd died and he hadn't been scared like this. He could see the thing covering Frank's face from the corner of his eye as he got a better grip on the flashlight. The Goa'uld didn't scare him like this. Nothing scared him like this.

The tiny click of the switch was the loudest sound he'd ever heard in his life.

Daniel Jackson lay motionless across Frank Rossiter's warm, breathing body and waited for what had to be forever. He opened his eyes to the growing gloom of later afternoon. Even if the sun had been out, it'd be too low to fall into this pit anymore and soon it'd be dark.

That was the thought that got him moving again. The thought of being here, in the dark, in the middle of these eggs with Frank as he waited for the sun to rise.

The eggs were shutting, folding back into smooth, ovoid shapes as the light faded away. He rose carefully up to his knees, then into a crouch next to Frank. Shuddering, reaching out to touch the thing on his face. It was cold, hard. Daniel tugged at it but it didn't budge. He couldn't, just couldn't deal with this here. He hands still shook as he hauled one of Frank's arms over his shoulders and rose, pushing up with his legs to drag the airman upright after him. Frank's pulse raced under his fingers. Daniel slid an arm around his waist and hugged him close, then started to walk.

He'd never know how long it took. The light was dimming, gray eggs just a suggestion against darker gray tunnel as he pulled the airman into the black, safe, eternal night of the tunnel. Far from the risk of light, far from where day would fall. Daniel dropped onto his haunches and picked up Frank's wrist, counting. His pulse was regular and strong. The archaeologist reached for the flashlight he'd brought along, but left it off. Couldn't face the thought that those things might see the light. He hunkered down in the dark to wait for the day.

 

____________________________________________________

She hated this. It didn't matter that she knew Colonel O'Neill hated it as much, hell even more, than she did. He was getting paid the big bucks to make the hard decisions and to take the heat and damn it, but the anger was simmering in her gut and leaving a sour taste in her mouth. Almost as sour as the sick fear that by the time they took their little detour and got back to what they were supposed to be doing . . .

Sam cut off that line of thought and concentrated on a job that, just that moment, she hated with a passion. It had taken more than seven hours to get to SG-4. She'd counted each minute, chopping viciously into greenery. Stopping at each cross street and hoping that this time they'd get a response from Daniel. Trying not to resent the repeated check-ins from Stromburg and her group.

It was after dark by a long shot, and Sam was half-dizzy from how the light on her helmet played over the garbage they had to plow through - stuff that looked solid but always had a layer of shadows flickering behind it. Stuff that felt solid under your feet but always sagged when you really put your weight on it.

Elaine Stromburg had done pretty well. For a civilian . . . Sam bit off that line of thought too, remembering the thing they'd faced. Stromburg had kept her five people alive, herself, a chemical engineer, two techs and their only remaining airman disabled by acid burns, but all alive. She'd done damn well.

"Thank God you're here." Dr. Stromburg had immediately buttonholed the Colonel, who had yet to get a word in edgewise. The faint Southern accent did nothing to soften the strain in the woman's voice.

He was beckoning to Sam now. It looked a little frantic if she was any judge of the man's body language. Sam nodded to him, studying the layout of Stromburg's bolt hole. A deep, empty room in the middle of a block. Adequate visibility, narrow frontage to defend from attack. If you weren't heavily armed or skilled it was about as good as you'd get. Sgt. Corbier might have advised them to use it, but Sam sort of suspected that Stromburg was just that smart that she'd understood how to best utilize her people. Grudgingly, she considered that the little fireplug of a woman would probably have made a damn good officer.

It looked she was outgunning the Colonel on the verbal firepower front, that was for sure. The Colonel was shooting Sam looks just starting to be tinged with desperation as the scientist gave him an extremely detailed recounting of how she and what she referred to as her "ragtag band of refugees" had managed to stay alive. Sounded like a hell of a job and one Stromburg seemed to both regret and want to relinquish. Not that Sam blamed her. When they'd walked into this clearing, there'd been a thin, but very enthusiastic cheer. The relief on the faces of these people would be heart-warming if it weren't so premature. And so costly. She frowned and reached for her radio again. The Colonel and Teal'c both twitched, glancing her way as she made what she'd started to think of as the ritual call, and listened to unbroken static in return.

The Colonel was still watching, one hand going in small circles as he urged her to try it again. Sam clenched her molars until her jaws ached and did it, knowing that it wouldn't make any difference. There'd still be dead air, static coming back. She shook her head and saw his shoulders tighten, draw in just the smallest amount. She tried to wipe the anger off her face, get a neutral expression firmly fixed. It wasn't his fault. It was SOP and if she'd been in command she'd have made exactly the same decision. Crap. Maybe. And maybe he was getting paid the bigger bucks to deal with the fallout for having to make that decision.

She turned back to assessing the perimeter, suddenly just that little bit relieved that there was a colonel in command of this team, rather than her. That the decision wasn't one she'd had to make.

"Major?" Sam twitched, schooling her face to perfect attention and turned back towards Colonel O'Neill.

"Sir?"

"Talk to, uh -" He waved vaguely, eyebrows waggling. She could see a glint in his eyes that experience had taught her was the last of his patience going up in flames. "I need to get, um, a tactical overview of the situation."

'Umm.' Sure sign of high level desperation. Sam struggled with an absurd mix of worry and amusement for a moment as she moved back towards the hole in the wall where the remains of SG-4 huddled. Colonel O'Neill slunk past her like a coyote ducking a thrown rock. She leaned towards him for an instant, "Sir, with all due respect -"

"Carter, if you tell me I'm sticking you with the touchy feely stuff because you're a girl, you're wrong. I'm sticking you with it because I'm a colonel and I can."

This wasn't mere desperation. This was end-of-the-rope-and-swinging. Sam sighed and sucked it up. "You owe me."

"I owe you big, Major. And the minute all of us are home you can start extorting me for it."

She bit back her first response and settled for a milder comment. "Four words, Sir. Harley. Davidson. Gift. Certificate."

"Major, I'll give you my damn credit card for an hour long spree but for God's sake keep that woman away from me!"

She hesitated then gave in to the urge to needle. "I thought you didn't have a problem with women?"

"Like I told you. I don't. I do, however, have a problem with scientists and if I have to hear that . . . that . . . ENGINEER tell me about abandoning samples and fabricating slings one second more I will lose it! Think of this as a . . . a diplomatic mission."

Sam met his eyes for a moment and almost said it, nearly told him she wasn't the one who did diplomacy. But she could already see that recognition in his eyes and suddenly she couldn't throw that in his face no matter how angry she was. She was, after all, not the only one.

A moment later it was a done deal, regardless, as the Colonel slunk off before a credible challenge could be mounted. Sam sighed and squared her shoulders, plastering a reassuring smile on her face. "Dr. Stromburg? I'm Major Carter. Colonel O'Neill asked me to confer with you. Get an assessment of your people and organize our withdrawal clearly so you know what's going to be happening."

Hazel eyes looked steadily up at her as the fireplug-shaped woman crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "You don't need to shilly-shally with me, Major. He asked you to keep me away from him and to talk me into behaving, didn't he?"

"Uh -" Sam hesitated and glanced back to where the Colonel was in ostentatiously intense conversation with Teal'c before looking back to Stromburg. And took a closer look at the woman. Dear god, even rumpled and stained she could see the hint of a crease in her BDU's. Sam had never seen anyone who ironed and starched BDU's before. She ran her tongue over her teeth. "We'll be wanting to move out fast as soon as it's light."

Stromburg nodded. "We've been waiting, and we are fully ready to go. We were expecting SG-6 by now. You weren't the people who were supposed to be coming."

It was a simple observation, no inflection one way or the other. The gaze studying her was shrewd, sharp. The harsh lines in Dr. Stromburg's face deepened for an instant and then suddenly softened, flickering through comprehension, horror, regret. "You really weren't the ones who - oh. Oh. There's somebody else out there . . ."

Sam stared back at her, blinking fast. She couldn't breathe for a moment, not until the sharp, prickling feeling at the backs of her eyes went away and she knew she was safe again. "We're here, Doctor. We were sent in to remove civilians from a high risk zone and that's what we're doing.

The shorter woman hesitated, then plowed on, looking determined. "You were diverted to come for us, weren't you? Then there's somebody else out there. We're going after them aren't we? We can't leave them."

Sam was caught between laughter and rage for an instant, staring back in disbelief. The heady mix of emotions was too much and for just a second she said what she thought. "You people screwed up. Whatever these things are, you didn't see them coming. And then you let them split you up. Three people got to the gate, which tells me the rest of you could have done it too if you hadn't panicked. You're damn right we've left someone out there! He's a good friend and he's one of MY team and we cannot, do you hear me, CAN NOT get to him with a batch of untrained, unskilled, tired lab rats tagging along. We came and we are going to get you out. And for now we are going to have to leave them. We . . . are . . ." She slowed, stood there panting with the force of the emotions as if she'd run for miles and suddenly the prickle was back behind her eyes and she sniffed and shut her eyes, trying to force the feelings back.

When she opened her eyes again Dr. Stromburg was watching her with a chastened look on her face, no longer blustering. Sam slumped. "I'm sorry, Dr. Stromburg. I had no right to say that to you. This isn't your fault."

"No, you had a right." The little woman raised her hand, fiddled with what, by heaven, looked like a diamond earring. "You are right. And I can't say I haven't thought the same things myself. We panicked and when Katherine and Sam took Joe, I . . . we just didn't think. We ran. I . . . I want to go home."

Sam straightened and nodded. "I know. We all do. We're going to get you home."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry, but what about your friend?" Stromburg was tugging at the earring now.

"We're going to get you out and come back for him. Daniel's . . . well. He's hard to kill." Sam smiled, a small, sad smile, but a real one. "So he'll just have to be hard to kill again. Is that so much to ask?"


	7. Tarantella 7

There were times Teal'c envied O'Neill. The language of the Goa'uld false gods was a florid, inflated thing ill-suited to a soldier's disgust and distress. The language of the Jaffa was little better, tailored to efficient issuance of orders or to groveling obeisance. Neither of them had the pithy quality of a good Tau'ri oath.

"Shit."

Teal'c turned, startled as his thoughts were echoed. "O'Neill. Are you well? Do you require assistance?"

The Tau'ri was rubbing his eyes, his other hand held up to ward off aid. "I'm fine, Teal'c. Just peachy. Everything's . . . swellll."

"You do not say that in a way that leads me to believe you." The Jaffa raised an eyebrow, inviting more comment.

A grudging smile met his comment. "You really milk that 'clueless alien' thing, don't you?"

Teal'c raised both eyebrows. "I am not familiar with the handling of lactating mammals, O'Neill. Unless there is something about Tau'ri physiology of which I am completely unaware."

O'Neill let both hands drop and looked up to the sky. "Give me strength."

"How would I -"

"AH! We're not going there." The familiar finger wave seemed comforting to the colonel. Teal'c was careful not to show his satisfaction. O'Neill looked around them, taking in the cleared street. "Stromburg did pretty good. Reminds me of a sergeant I knew once."

Teal'c studied his friend, assessing the admiration in his voice, and the faint undercurrent of resentment. They were all tired, but the shadows under the colonel's eyes seemed darker, his skin a little more gray beneath the beard stubble and the grime. He considered his response carefully. "She performed exceptionally well, O'Neill, however it seems unlikely that they could have survived much longer. Their chances of successfully withdrawing through the Stargate were not good."

O'Neill started to scowl at him, then winced, expression suddenly rueful as he looked away. "If you're trying to tell me I did the right thing by coming to get 'em, I know that."

"Do you?" Teal'c was careful to keep all inflection out of his voice. He needed to see how O'Neill would choose to hear the words.

For a long moment he wondered if the Tau'ri would respond at all as the man stood there, watching Major Carter confer with Dr. Stromburg. O'Neill finally sighed and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I know, Teal'c. Their chances sucked. But what kind of chance does Daniel have, just him and Rossiter?"

"I believe you are not crediting DanielJackson with his true level of experience. And Airman Rossiter is formidably well trained as well, is he not? Without wounded or inexperienced personnel they will be able to travel with more stealth and speed than Dr. Stromburg could have accomplished."

"I want to believe that. God knows I do. But . . ."

Teal'c waited for him to complete the thought, O'Neill simply stood for long moments before he shook himself. "Shit. Well, Carter can be mad at me for both of us."

"I will speak with her."

O'Neill spun and this time met his eyes and held the look. "No. You won't."

"She is a soldier, O'Neill. Anger is a luxury none of us can afford. She must understand that you made the only possible decision."

"In the first place, I didn't make the only possible decision. I made the only militarily justifiable decision. In the second, she does know that and she knows why. Hell, Teal'c, if she were in command she'd have made the same decision."

"I fail to understand her indulgence in anger at you, O'Neill." Teal'c shifted uneasily and glanced around, but this time it was nothing alien that made him nervous. "Is this a Tau'ri custom? Among Jaffa -"

"We're not among Jaffa," O'Neill cut him off, expression grim. He glanced back at Major Carter again and his look softened to regret. "She's mad. Hell, so am I!"

"She has no right to engage in anger against you, O'Neill."

"She's not." The man smiled ruefully. "I know it looks like that, T, but she's not. She's mad at the situation, mad at the bugs, hell, she's probably mad at herself because she couldn't come up with a good enough reason to convince herself, let alone me. Or maybe that ought to be the other way around."

"You do not make sense. Are you unwell?" Teal'c eyed him with worry.

O'Neill gave him a slow smile, but it was not a truly happy expression. "I feel like shit, but that's because this whole situation is crappy. Pardon the pun."

"I do not believe it would be wise of me to thusly encourage you," sighed Teal'c, wishing the Tau'ri were not so fond of such plays on words.

"Enc - never mind." O'Neill shook his head again, then straightened. "Let her work it through, Teal'c. She's got enough reason. And she can be mad for me too, while she's at it, cause I'd sure love to punch some lights out myself right now if I only knew who to hit. She'll get over it."

"You are a strange people, O'Neill." Teal'c considered his words and decided that in this perhaps it was better to leave his friends to their ways and not try to understand. "Dr. Stromburg and her people should be ready to move in the morning. They appear most enthusiastic."

"Enthusiastic my ass," muttered the colonel. "They'd probably walk on hot coals to get away from that woman!"

"Perhaps." Teal'c nodded and kept the rest of his thoughts to himself.   
_______________________________________________________________________

Daniel hesitated then put his hand on Frank's chest again. Still rising and falling. He blinked in the dark and took a deep breath, sliding his hand up the other man's body to his throat. God, god, god but he didn't want to do this, didn't want to touch the other man at all, let alone . . . He clenched his teeth and forced his hand up to the cool, smooth surface of the thing's leg, Spider. A spider might feel like this. The underside of a horseshoe crab would feel like this but it wouldn't cling to a man's face and it wouldn't . . .

He bit down sharply on that line of thought and forced himself to grasp the leg more strongly. Again. And pulled, gently, with more and more force until he felt the weight of Frank's head as he lifted it . . . the thing and Frank . . . off the ground. Daniel shuddered, setting his burden back down. He heard a soft sob and realized it was his own voice, clapped a hand over his mouth. His face was wet. He scrubbed hard at his eyes until he saw sparks and floaters, ran his fingers up into his own greasy hair and tugged hard until the pain distracted him for a moment. Let him feel something other than fear.

Sighing, he dragged his hands back down to his face and rocked, wanting to be in a dark of his own making for a moment instead of the larger dark where he knew things waited. Water dripped softly, and leaves rustled. Frank was soundless. Daniel took his hands away from his face and sighed again. Feeling his way, he found their packs. Fingered a powerbar, thinking about food and realized he couldn't eat. If he tried it'd come right back up. When he shook a canteen the water sort of rattled. Not much there. Come light, he could set a cup under a drip, filter it, purify it. Figure out how to get Frank out of here. Wait for him to die.

He couldn't stand the dark another instant. The flashlight felt cold in his hands. The patterns on the button rubbed, caught at the ridges of his fingerprint. Daniel thought about sleek, gray heads turning to track motion, about eggs opening as a shadow fell across them blocking the light. And put the flashlight back down. Instead he fumbled at the watch on his wrist, pressing the button to make it glow. Heavy, cool metal and glass felt clean and good, reliable. The green glow showed the hands sweeping. Roughly calculating for the difference in period between Earth and here, it was late. Dawn was coming. He didn't want to release the button and sink back into the dark, so he sat there watching the hands sweep around the face. Pilot's watch, it said. Under his fingers were buttons lining the side, one to set it and one to get the light and one for a GPS to find him if he got lost. On earth, that is. Jack had given him the watch as a joke. At least he thought it was a joke. Wished a UAV could pick it up, find him, bring him home.

When he let go, flashes and strobes marked the dark, lighting his retinas the way no light would do. Not for an hour or so. Daniel wrapped his arms around his knees and started to rock, running progressions of alphabets, evolution of figures from ideograms to syllabaries and alphabets and back again, trying not to think of how much he wanted to hear Jack's voice, Sam's laugh, see Teal'c's eyebrow raise or the gentle, all-but-not-there smile. How much he wanted to be with his friends, with the people he loved, who'd care if he died.

Frank had someone who loved him. He'd said. A girl back in Ohio waiting for him to come home. Frank was about a inch shorter than Daniel, maybe a little wider in the shoulders. Heavier. If he could find a ladder he could carry . . . not a hope in hell. Daniel swallowed against the sour taste in the back of his throat and admitted to himself that he couldn't carry the man out. Then he wondered if Frank was still breathing. Again. And he slowly reached out, again. And just like the times before, he felt the heat of a body and stopped, wondering if this would be the time he'd touch something that wasn't human. Something that would reach to touch him back. And just like all the times before, he touched fabric stretched over a chest that was rising and falling in even, measured breaths. So he had to find out and he made himself move his hand up over a stubbled throat (even, regular pulse, noted the part of his mind that did such things), to find carapace and legs that wrapped like steel around his face, clawed feet dug into hair at the back of Frank's head (cooler than flesh, even after hours noted the part of his mind that might or might not have been sane). And he tried to pry it off. Again. As easily lift the Sphinx.

He lost count of the times he tried. The first time he saw the faint outline of Frank's body he was sure he'd lost his mind at last. Started to hallucinate what he couldn't see. And turned his head slowly, holding his breath and feeling his heart so frantic in his chest that it hurt. Sure that if he was seeing things like this at last, that he'd see either Jack, or maybe see spider-legged crabs circling round, looking back. He couldn't decide what he'd see but neither one was there. He lifted his eyes and saw a gray, soft patch that was less dark than the rest of the world and he knew that dawn was coming.

Dawn smelled different on this world. Cool, fresh water and sky overlaid the tang of metal slowly rotting away, all suffused by the reek of eons of leaves and flesh, death and life rotting on the ground. And down here, in the still tunnel air, dust and rock and a chemical hint that he'd started to know as theirs. As crabs. Or bugs? He stared at the thing on Frank's face and nodded to himself. Bugs. Not crabs. Things that laid eggs. It was a relief to feel his mind ticking over on autopilot, working despite the bitter taste in his mouth and the sick hollow in his gut. The thing on Frank didn't look the thing that had lunged at them up above, but still . . . These tunnels had been built without fear of such things, he felt sure. Eggs in sheltered places where light could show them prey. Creatures that hunted by sight, smelling faintly of acid and chemistry labs, as did the air down here.

The thing that had attacked them was painted in the Goa'uld ship, so it had emerged on this planet subsequent to the Goa'uld invasion attempt or there wouldn't have been cities to invade. It might possibly have helped thwart that attempt. Might be a naturally occurring species like an emergent virus at home but he doubted that very much. Not if there were no cities left alive on this world, as he believed, no tribes that were not scattered and small. The cities and their cultures could not evolve side by side with such a deadly thing, and if it attacked creatures from other planets, then its range of hosts was obviously broad. Clearly. Daniel shuddered and dug his fingers into his arms to distract him for a moment from the thought.

Wide range of hosts. SG-9 had found no hint of a city that lived. No word or folklore or suggestion that the tribes co-existed with larger, settled groups. He could see Frank now, see the rise and fall he'd felt through the night. The eggs were all closed.

There were eggs at the edge, in the gloom, shattered shells littering the tunnel floor. He rose slowly and stiffly to wander closer. Behind him, Frank didn't move. Daniel paused a few feet away, then turned and went closer to the eggs. On lay on its side, cracked. He could see the dry, scattered bits of exoskeleton strewn about and wondered what on earth could eat such a thing. Then shuddered and looked back into the dark and was relieved to see just Frank, even with that thing on his face. Edging closer he reached out and snatched up a bit of shell, holding it to the light. The sky had turned a soft, apricot shade and he could see how the shell glowed with gentle light.

Translucent. As he'd thought. They could see their prey.

He could hear chittering and birdsong from above. Maybe birds, he wasn't truly sure, but something and sung in the mornings. For a moment he wondered if the bugs sang, felt his skin twitch with disgust and then remembered that they danced. Like bees. Probably no song, then. Probably not.

Water spilled in trickles, silver in the growing light. As he'd thought. The rain was draining down from above, pooling here in the tunnel below. He went and got their cups, spread cheesecloth to filter the water and poured it out as each cup filled, into canteens with tablets to purify the water and make it taste like shit.

Good word for this place, he thought to himself. Distant thought. He didn't want to get too close to the memory of laughing and trading languages and curses with Frank.

Jack would tell him to leave. Get help. Come back. Daniel could almost hear his voice saying the words to Daniel, just as he knew damn well that Jack would never do that himself. He'd tell them to leave and he'd stay. The water spilled if he wasn't careful when he poured it into the canteens. They started to slosh as cup after cup filled them up.

It was brighter today, drizzling instead of the heavy rain. Daniel glanced up, scanning ovoid shapes. A sudden, dazzling shaft of light pierced the clouds and cut a gorgeous swath into the gloom and each and every egg folded back like a flower in the glow. Daniel froze, not a breath, not a muscle moving and waited for the slow drift of clouds to return, the eggs to close again. And dropped his head to his knees when they did, and sobbed. Just shook with tears of rage and helpless frustration and terror. Oh yes, icy, horrible terror. Please, please, please he did not want to die here, like this.

Canteens full and clutched to his chest, he turned back as noon lent a soft, pewter glow to his hell. Shuffling back, he crouched to tuck the water away and glanced up, gauging Frank's breathing again. And frowned, counting. Sidling closer to Frank, he put a hand back on his chest (warmer, noted that voice in his mind. Skin twitched when I touched him). The sweep hand of his watch hit midnight and Daniel started to count. Respirations up. He lifted his eyes and gulped, and did what he'd done all night and hadn't had the guts to do since dawn, once he could actually see what it was that he touched.

Frank's pulse was just a little faster. The stubble rasped against Daniel's skin and Frank twitched again. Blinking hard and fast, Daniel trailed his fingers up the man's jaw and grasped the first of the creature's legs. And pulled. And shrieked and scrambled back as it slithered - no, slid off of its victim's face.

Daniel nearly pissed in his pants, and found himself pressed hard against the wall of the tunnel, shaking so hard he couldn't stay on his feet. Sliding down the tunnel wall to huddle on the floor, he stared as Frank jumped, reached up to his face and pawed at his own head.

"Crap! Oh CRAP what the hell is that?"

"F-Frank?" His teeth chattered so hard he couldn't say the name at first. Daniel hunched down, trying to make himself small and hissed the name, "Frank!"

"Doc?" The airman sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I feel like shit and - WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?"

"don't touch it don't touch it don't -"

"I won't! Ugly fucker." Frank Rossiter scooted away, glaring back at the thing on the floor. "Shit! I saw that motherfucker and then, blam!"

Daniel was wheezing like an asthma attack, panic singing in his veins and if he'd known where to run he'd have gone like lightning. As it was he crouched low and stared at the man he'd been waiting to see die.

Frank had his weapon in his hands now, trained on the ugly thing that lay motionless on the floor. Daniel could see dark eyes flick back and forth from the thing to him, confusion etching lines on the airman's face. "You gonna tell me what the hell that thing is?"

"It was on your face." He knew the words were stupid even as he said them but they were all he could think to say.

Frank eyed him skeptically, and Daniel could see his own conclusion mirrored. But the other man's voice was lower when he spoke, though Daniel could hear the effort it took to sound calm. "I got that part figured out. Thank you, Doc. How'd you get it off?"

"I didn't." Daniel stared, idiotically glad he'd decided not to eat because otherwise he'd be puking his guts right then and there. "Frank, it was on your face all night. I couldn't pull it off or cut it off. It just . . . it just fell. Off."

"Kind of like a wart?" The amazement in his voice almost made Daniel laugh.

"Um. Sort of like that."

"Man, that thing is ugly as home made sin." Frank edged forward, poking it with his weapon. The hazel eyes suddenly came up to his face again. "All night?"

Daniel blinked, trying to understand, then nodded. "It's morning, Frank. I thought you were . . . It's morning."

Frank stared at him, then turned his head to look back to where the eggs gleamed in the soft rain. His eyes narrowed as he sat back on his heels, craning up to look at the field from where he sat, then slowly tracked from the eggs, down the tunnel to where they both sat. "You carried me out?"

His voice was thoughtful, low. Daniel started to uncurl from where he'd tucked himself up, scared and small. Felt his breathing start to slow. "Not carried. Dragged."

A scowl met his words, one step from a grin. "Linguist. Splitting hairs."

Daniel stood slowly, sidled like a nervous cat past the thing on the tunnel floor. "That's why I make the big bucks. Are you . . . how do you feel?"

Frank got a thoughtful look on his face, then rose to his feet. "A little stiff. I've got a sore throat. And I'm ready to blow this joint."

He looked like he meant it, rubbing at his back but standing easily now. Daniel picked up a pack and heaved it over, absurdly relieved as Frank caught it, shaking his head. "Sneaky. Remind me to get you on my basketball team."

Relief was a drug to sing in his veins and make his legs suddenly weak. Daniel braced one hand on a knee, reaching out to lift his own pack. "You don't want me. I've got white man's disease."

Frank helped him get his pack on without a word, patting his shoulder as he fished out his flashlight and turned the thing on. "Right now, Doc, I figure I want you on my team more than you'll ever know."

Daniel watched him walk carefully into the dark and followed, blinking hard at the sting in the back of his eyes. "I think I know what you mean."

 

____________________________________________________________________

For the first time in hours, there was light that didn't come from a battery or sneak through holes in the ground. Frank Rossiter reached back down for the doc's hand, moving slowly and carefully not to startle the other man. "Here. Let me give you a hand up."

"I'm okay."

"The packs are heavy. How many push ups you been doin' with a pack on?" Blue eyes came up to meet his. The archaeologist hesitated a barely perceptible moment then reached out to take the offered hand.

"Thanks."

"No sweat." Frank leaned back, pulling Daniel clear and into the soft drizzle of the afternoon. "Feels good to be out of the hole, doesn't it?"

Daniel looked at him sideways, studying him. Frank looked steadily back, trying not to take offense. "I'm okay, doc. Honest to God I'm fine."

"How do I know that?" Daniel shoved his glasses up on his nose and licked his lips. "You ever hear about Kawalsky?"

'Course he had. Everyone heard about Kawalsky. They didn't let you through the gate 'less you heard about Kawalsky and the snake. Frank hitched his pack higher onto his shoulders and met Daniel's eyes. "Wasn't a snake that got me. And even if it was, think about it. What choice do we have? What choice do you have? So we go back, Doc Frasier gets up close and personal with my brain stem and my gut and everything else -" he shuddered at the memory of what the little woman could do to a man "- and that's that."

"Simple as that?" Daniel looked away, face pensive. "It's never that simple, Frank."

"Sometimes it is." Frank scuffed at the ground, thinking about the last several hours. Studying the archaeologist. Daniel was tense, poised on the balls of his feet where he could see Frank and still watch the jungle. His head twitched as he kept scanning behind, then suddenly looking back like he was fixing Frank's position in some kind of mental map. The airman sighed. "I know how it feels."

"Hmm?" Another of those quick, snapping moves. Daniel winced and Frank screwed his face up, sympathetically imagining how that kind of move made your neck twinge.

"When you'd kill for eyes in the back of your head and you keep feeling like something's coming up behind you? It helps to stay by the wall, Doc. Gives you one less direction to check." He moved away, gesturing, offering the prime spot to Daniel.

"I . . . I do trust you, Frank. I trust YOU. But . . ."

Frank tilted his head, glanced at Daniel then looked back out to scan the jungle himself. "Yeah. I've been trying to think of what it was like."

From the corner of his eye he saw Daniel shrug. "It was quiet. Dark. Nothing came after me."

Frank snorted derisively. Daniel pulled an apologetic face. "Really. I'm fine."

"Sure." Fine. He'd been shivering with his nerves on an edge that Frank couldn't have tolerated for ten minutes, let alone the four hours they'd been walking since . . . it just didn't pay to obsess on shit. Frank rubbed at a scratch on his scalp and studied how Daniel moved instead. Nervous. Shoulders pulled in tight and eyes flickering back and forth, fast. Jumpy. "You'll burn out doing that. That thing with your eyes. You can't stay that wired all the time, Doc. Trust me, I know."

The guy looked at him, really looked, instead of looking for symptoms or crap. Frank looked back. "So how do you do it? Is this something they teach you boot camp or something? Some class they should give so the rest of us can learn it too?"

"Sure." Frank shook his head, grinned ruefully. "You can come hunker down in the cold rain with us and learn it in the field. Hell, Doc, you have to know this shit. You've been through the gate for years. Didn't you ever have to go to ground and hide?"

Daniel got a closed look on his face, tight and controlled. For a few moments that felt like a long time he just stared out ahead of him but Frank didn't think they were seeing the same things at all. When the blue eyes finally came back around to his face the tension had lessened, just a bit, leaving an exhaustion and a weary, familiar grief. "Sometimes I think it's getting easier, that I can just let it flow over me. Forget about the dead and how much it costs and just get on with things. Do my job. And then I hate myself for it."

"So you burn up over the poor bastards you can't do anything for? What about the ones you save by what you know? I heard about you, Doc. Everybody points you out, even before they tell you about Kawalsky. You know that crap they keep telling us about this being the most important job in the world? I hear you said that stuff first. Did you know that you're right?"

Daniel's face went blank for just a moment, then creased in a self-deprecating grin. "If you ask Jack he'll tell you that I'm always right. Or that I think so, at least."

"No bullshit, Daniel. What you do helps keep a lot of people alive. Worlds worth of people. Not all by yourself, man. Every last one of us helps. And people get hurt and they get killed. They always have. It's a shitty job and I hate that part too. They don't give us any classes on how to move on, Doc. You don't take the job unless you figure that part out first."

"I didn't apply for the job. It came looking for me."

"Bit you in the ass from what I hear." Frank shifted uncomfortably. "I hate this touchy-feely crap. They try to get us to talk to shrinks and -" he crooked his fingers in the air, "counselors so we'll adjust, be 'healthy'. Daniel, the job may have bit you in the ass but you've been doing it a long time. You know as much about it as any of us and part of it's that you can't save 'em all and you can't look back 'cause there's always gonna be something you need to do and someone you need to look out for. We figure we look out for you civvies. And I figure you civvies help look out for the rest of us so we know what to do and who to shoot."

Daniel hesitated, looked around. "How did we get started on this tack?"

Frank grinned broadly and mentally chalked up a success. Time to cut and run. "See those three towers? Those suckers are right by the stargate. I figure we're only a day or two away. Not bad time, considering all the crap we've gotta wade through."

Mild blue eyes came back around to his face again, less wary but nowhere near relaxed. "That's a couple hard days. Are you really okay?"

"I'm fine. And even if I weren't, what would you do? What? You gonna do surgery on me out here? Or some witch doctor shit?"

Daniel finally grinned, just a little. "Shamanistic rites. Witch doctors are different. They're more like apothecaries. They handle the physical complaints and the shamans handle the diagnoses, the psychology and the weird stuff. I think spiders on the face count as weird."

Frank pasted a look of serious inquiry on his face, turning to Daniel. "What I want to know is, is it covered on my medical insurance?"

The answer was equally solemn. "Only if you get a referral from your primary care provider."

"Crap!" He couldn't keep the smile off his face anymore and was relieved to see Daniel's wary, nervous expression also melt under laughter. "And I was really looking forward to seeing you do some anthro-archaeo-shit in the flesh! I mean, that didn't have lectures or weird words involved."

"Take one of my classes on Goa'uld culture and language and I'll show you weird shit, Airman Rambo!"

"You are so out of date. Haven't you seen anything less than a decade old?"

"Rambo's not? Jack told me it was a classic of American heroic fiction!"

Frank grinned at the appalled betrayal Daniel expressed. "Rambo's not bad for old shit, Doc. But you need to update your knowledge of action adventure movies. At least get some Van Damme and Siegal under your belt so you've got a more rounded education. If you really want to do it right you'll toss in some Jackie Chan and Jet Li."

"Good American role models all." Daniel nodded agreement. "Seriously, how do you feel?"

He hesitated, thought about putting up a reassuring front for the Doc and then thought again. "Honestly? Like shit. I've got a rash where that thing's feet scratched my head and if you want to know the truth, I'm scared shitless. If I really thought about it, I'd probably be screaming my head off. But I figure there's worse things than alien tape worms and at least I still know who I am and what I'm doing. Not like it was a ghoul or something."

Daniel's intense stare had been on his face the whole time, a slight frown bringing his brows together. "Umm. Are you sure . . . there's really nothing else?"

A tickle of apprehension twitched the skin between Frank's shoulder blades. "I'm okay, Doc. How about you?"

The blue eyes flickered away, back. "I'm fine. I'm not the one who got attacked."

Frank scratched at his jaw, caught himself and took his hand away from his face. "Thinking about that thing creeps me out. I'm actually looking forward to seeing Frasier if you know what I mean."

"I know." Daniel was nibbling a lip. "I was thinking about those eggs. What they might be from."

The tentative tone sounded like a request to be invited to say stuff out loud. Stuff Frank really wasn't sure he wanted to hear. He grimaced. "Am I gonna like what you think those bastards are?"

"No. I really don't think so."

That little back and forth look was going to drive him nuts, meeting his eyes like an apology then looking away. Frank felt his frown deepen. "You can't do anything for me, right?"

"Nooo . . . I don't think so."

"So anything you tell me is just gonna be tough shit until we get back to Doc Frasier's tender mercies?"

Daniel blinked and fidgeted, then nodded. "That's a simplistic but essentially accurate summation."

He wondered if all linguists waffled with big words. "Then I think I'd rather wait until there's something we CAN do before I get the bad news, if you don't mind. Unless I'm gonna, you know, drop dead in the next fifteen minutes or something."

He almost squirmed under the scrutiny for a minute. Daniel finally blinked, looked away, looked back. "I don't know, Frank. I can't even guess. Do you FEEL like you're going to die in the next fifteen minutes?"

"For pity's sake, Doc, it was a joke!" Daniel's expression didn't waver and Frank suddenly wondered what he was seeing. Tried to imagine it and things sort of fell into place. Scared as Frank was, maybe he wasn't the only one with something to be afraid of here and that REALLY didn't make him feel good. He ground his teeth and concentrated on the greenery for a minute, doing something he DID know how to do. When he finally looked back it was to meet a worried stare. "Look, Doc, there's nothing we can do until we get back. There's nothing I can do that's not gonna make me want to reach down my own throat and see if I got hitchhikers. So let me work on my denial here and get the job done, okay? Those fuckers are probably just, you know, tape worms from space or something. I feel okay. I can walk, I can think and we're more than halfway home. We're gonna be all right."

The archaeologist stared at him another long moment then nodded. Frank could almost see him make himself let go of the tension, loosen up a little at a time. The tight muscles across Daniel's cheekbones eased and his eyes stopped that little back and forth twitch that had been getting Frank on edge for the last couple hours. "Tape worm, huh?"

"I figure." He turned back, picking his way through the thinner debris along the shady side of the street. As they reached a cross street he reached automatically for the radio, depressing the button. "Sierra Golf oh-one-niner this is Sierra Golf one oh niner . . ."

Daniel moved up as he repeated the call, back into step next to him. Frank approved of how he was scanning the greenery around them. The guy'd been pretty hairy-scary since he woke up but he was buckling back down -

His attention suddenly fixed on the radio as the static broke, garbled words coming through for the first time in days. "-Golf -- niner -- in! Sierra Go-f one oh niner come in! This is --one niner!"

"SG-1! That you?!" He stopped and Daniel spun, leaning in close to grab his radio, "SAM! SAM IT'S DANIEL! SAM COME IN!"

"Geeze, Doc!" Frank tugged off his radio and handed it over since he was pretty sure Daniel'd forgotten he had one of his own. "Talk to the people!"

"--el?" It wasn't the woman's voice anymore. A man's gruff shouting was interspersed with the static. "Dammit, Da--l, where the hell are --"

"You need Sprint, Jack! You're signal's lousy!" Daniel's eyes were shining, face flushed and his grin was so wide it looked like it would hurt. "We're okay! We're by the big, pointy tower. Like the TransAm building, Jack. Can you hear me, Jack?"

"-- -- Am? That -- car, Daniel! We had to divert. Repeat. Had to divert. -- -ondition. Repeat. What is your condition?"

"We're . . ." Daniel looked up, meeting his eyes and Frank nodded sharply to the question there. "We're okay, Jack. It's okay. Look out for eggs, Jack. They attack."

" -- eggs? -iller tomatoes, Daniel."

Daniel snickered and responded. "Good to hear from you, too. Just look out for the eggs. Dangerous. Dangerous eggs." He frowned, asking Frank, "do you think they heard me? There's so much static."

"Gotta hope, Doc." He reached out to take the radio back. "We'll try them again next corner. See if we can get a better repeater. 'Sierra Golf oh one niner, this is Sierra Golf one oh niner. Will repeat in one five. Will repeat in one five. Out."

Frank clipped his radio back to his shoulder carefully, and grinned at the Doc. Daniel was just about bouncing on his toes and the crease between his eyebrows was gone for the first time in days. "They're alive. They're okay, Frank. They're alive."

"Calm down. You're gonna wear yourself out right here." Frank tried to scowl at him but couldn't get the answering smile off his face. "Just take it easy. We've got a long way to go."

Daniel's fell into step next to him, walking briskly now. "There was a lot of static. Do you think they got the bit about the egg?"

"Yeah." He rubbed at the back of his neck, reviewing what O'Neill had said and felt some of the glee die down. "You caught the bit about them diverting, didn't you Doc? You do know they're not that close?"

A shrug answered him. "But they're alive. I was scared . . ." The archaeologist trailed off, suddenly looking away so his face was hidden. "It felt like we were all alone. At least they know we're still alive."

Frank nodded. "I'm betting we get a stronger signal on one of the next corners, you know. Probably just a few crappy repeaters."

"Why do you think they diverted?" Daniel asked the question in a neutral tone. "Do you think they're really okay?"

"Oh yeah." Frank gave him an assured nod. "They're tough. And your team's got the Jaffa. Bug'd have to be crazy to tackle him. I bet they just picked up a few stragglers off the one of the other teams. Thank God for that - it means somebody's still alive out there."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "I guess we're on our own then."

"We're making good time. Hell, I bet we beat 'em back to the gate." Frank grinned, then grimaced as his gut rolled a little. "Christ, I hate MRE's. We get back, Doc, you owe me dinner."

"Uh huh. Not that I'm arguing, but how do you figure I owe you?" Daniel eyed him over the tops of his glasses.

"'cause I'm the one smart enough to haul along the pack of MRE's. Taste like shit but keep you moving."

"They're not that bad." Daniel wiped rain off his glasses, which mystified Frank, who figured they'd just get wet again. "I ate much worse on some of the digs I worked."

"I've got heartburn just thinking about the MRE's Doc. Please don't tell me about the crap you ate in college. I'm happy enough thinking my caf was the worst there is."

"Your loss." Daniel grinned. "Comparative cuisine is a fascinating thing."

"You can tell me about eating lizards and bugs some other time, okay? I've eaten enough road kill in my day as it is."

The Doc nodded and held out a hand. "You're on. And I'll let you rip me off for the price of a meal, too. Steak?"

"You're a gentleman and a scholar, Doc. And you make more than me."

"From your lips to the ears of God and the general, my friend."

"Amen."


	8. Tarantella 8

It couldn't be that easy. It wouldn't be the Airforce, or the SGC, or this clusterfuck of a mission if it were that easy. Hell, it wouldn't be DANIEL if it were that easy.

Jack O'Neill shoved his helmet back and scrubbed at his gray hair. Just once he'd like things to go right. Was that too much to ask?

He tensed at the thought and cast a surreptitious look around. Daniel wasn't answering (again) but Stromburg's group had moved out almost flawlessly. Teal'c had the rear of the squad beautifully organized and marching briskly and steadily. Things on his end were going as right as they could and he only hoped that whatever god ran field ops didn't get pissy with them for one little gripe. Please God, please - come to think of it, he knew there was a saint who looked out for soldiers. Did that include SGC soldiers on alien worlds?

And which saint looked out for errant archaeologists?

"Sierra Golf one-oh-niner, come in." Goddamn it son of a BITCH come IN already. Jack clamped down on the anger and tried again. "Sierra Golf one-oh-niner, come in." And of course, the radio gave him nothing. It would have been too easy. He scowled.

Carter was watching him, eyes a little too bright but expression scrupulously professional. "Sir, we've probably just lost the line of sight again, that's all. That one contact means -"

"I know what it means," O'Neill snapped and immediately kicked himself for it. "Sorry, Carter. You're right. I know. We may have briefly gotten line of sight, or a good repeater, or hell, a good bounce off the clouds or something. But . . ."

She sighed. A muscle flickered at her jawline. "At the risk of being utterly unscientific, it feels like we should have broken that jinx."

He snorted, kicking at a bit of junk on the ground. "Whadda ya mean 'unscientific'? Jinx's are proven fact, just like bread landing butter side down! You get jinxed, you start expecting shit to go wrong, and you subconsciously create a self-fulfilling prophecy."

She eyed him. "Sir, that would suggest that y- that an individual could cause the current poor reception."

O'Neill heard her cautious amusement, and a gentle, mocking echo of a voice he only wished were answering the radio now. If it were Daniel he'd have flipped him the bird. He scowled at Sam. "Well. Maybe."

"That would be unscientific." Her expression was suddenly playful as she threw a glance, then went back to checking her flank.

He sighed. "No. I'm not creating poor reception. But I was hoping we'd keep contact despite the history of bad reception and that expectation creates a false impression of negative circumstances."

"Very good, Colonel." She nodded. "I seem to recall reading something like that in a paper on effects of intelligence interpretation on achievement of military objectives. If I didn't know better I'd think you might be engaged in clandestine research and paper-writing activities."

This time he did flip her the bird. "If you say a word . . ."

"Your secret's safe with me, Sir." She shot him a thumb's up. "Of course, small bribes never hurt."

He laughed before he could stop himself and shot her a dirty look in retaliation. "You're already hitting me up for motorcycle parts, Major."

"Winning streak, Sir. Capitalize on success."

"Yeah." He grunted. "We all know success breeds success. Now if reception just bred reception."

"Actually, I think reception would propagate reception." She shot him another look, shrewd and sharp. "Like chickens and eggs."

O'Neill winced at the word, then scowled at her, wondering when she'd learned to read his mind. "Not going there, Major."

"I'm worried." She cut the last word too sharply and he could almost hear the word she didn't quite say. Too. She was worried too.

"Yeah. Those damned eggs."

"We don't know they ran into trouble. We don't know how Norton was . . .attacked." The tension that had hovered in her eyes was suddenly written large on her face.

O'Neill scowled, looking away, then back. "Actually, we do know. They warned us about eggs, Carter. There's no other reason to warn us about the eggs."

"Maybe they, I don't know, ducked. We have no way of knowing." She shrugged and he could see her reach for objectivity, agnostic to possibilities she couldn't affect. Could hear hope when she repeated, "We just don't know."

She didn't. He did. He was damn sure they'd triggered the fucking eggs and equally sure that they had no idea what that might mean. Not if both of them were still there to talk back. His stomach did a slow, nasty roll and he grimaced, and forced himself to look around instead. Jungle. Teal'c on watch and tired civilians, switching off the duty of carrying Airman Corbier to free up their military escort.

Carter was silent, listening with obvious attention to the sounds around them. She rubbed at the back of her neck, working her shoulders. O'Neill knew just how she felt. The leaves seemed to move a little too much for the rain and he missed the little clicks and buzzes of the bugs - the little, normal, acceptable bugs - that he'd started to expect. It didn't surprise him to see Teal'c stroke a soothing hand over his belly like he was trying to settle the universe's biggest case of butterflies in the tummy. Which, come to think of it, wasn't completely inaccurate but also really wasn't an image that O'Neill wanted in his head.

The Jaffa caught his eye and splayed his fingers out across his stomach, then looked pointedly around them. O'Neill swallowed hard. "Carter, keep 'em peeled. I think Teal'c's getting the creepy crawlies about bugs."

She nodded, moving to cover point for him while he dropped back. The civvies shot him looks variously tired, curious and worried, but kept their mouths shut. The one who did open his mouth got elbowed by Stromburg and O'Neill wondered if he was going to have to revise his opinion of the woman. Just another unsettling thing to go wrong if he had to start questioning his character judgment about dweebs. Not that it hadn't happened before, but still. Immutable laws of the universe should be, well, immutable. O'Neill's mind had wandered but his eyes were still doing their job, and he knew it when Teal'c twitched, caught his eye. Teal'c's face bore the slightest hint of unease. A tiny tension around the eyes that was the Jaffa equivalent of screaming meemies. Shit.

"You don't look happy, Teal'c."

"I have abdominal insects, O'Neill."

"That's butterflies in the tummy, Teal'c.'

"Is that not what I said?" The Jaffa eyed him.

O'Neill stared back, trying to figure out if his leg was being pulled, then gave his head a short, sharp shake. "We gonna have uninvited guests?"

He waited for Teal'c to take the obvious line and inquire when they'd sent out invitations in the past, but the Jaffa stared evenly back at him. "I suggest we establish camp soon, O'Neill. Preferably within the next block."

That brought the Colonel up short. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, glancing over his shoulder. Nothing obvious. Not yet. "Get the troops ready, Teal'c. We'll find a place."

He trotted forward. The streets ran along the solar plane here, taking sun all day long and the greenery was incredibly dense. It made his skin crawl. Across the street was a corner site. The walls were heavy, steel warped and broken, but providing good cover to one wall while the other offered good visibility. Good as it was gonna get. He pointed it out to his major, who nodded.

Thank the god of battlefields or whoever the hell watched out for him for giving him this team. A quick wave to Carter and she was settling the civvies, voice low as she reassured them, coordinated them, brought them in line. The ground here was getting rougher, tumbled buildings and broken streets breaking the trail. It slowed them down but it also offered cover. He was guessing these buildings had been kind of downscale back when they were still used by whoever built 'em. No more of those big, handy storefronts on this block, with the open walls that looked like they'd once held glass or something like it. The corner spot this time had probably been closed and blank, nothing fancy, but time had twisted the metal and warped it open to make a space into which they could move.

Move they did. The smoke from a fire was starting to waft out of the rents in the building's' skin as O'Neill prowled the streetfront, checking the approach. Carter was getting their lost lambs all herded together, getting the camp set and making her own reconnoiter inside. He hadn't had to tell her, and a quick glance had just confirmed what he already assumed - his team knew their jobs and were on them.

There was Carter, a pale shadow deep in a shattered room, directing Stromburg and her people. She moved forward into the fading light and gave him a thumb's up. Tapped her forehead and pointed back where the firelight barely reached. It glinted faintly off the tattoo on Teal'c's forehead, who gave a small wave and walked back into the dark to check what they had at their backs. Keener eyesight than human, scent and hearing too, would make that the logical choice but O'Neill knew the value of self-motivated people and he valued these highly indeed. And missed the one who wasn't there, who'd have freed up Carter, taken their charges in hand. He sighed and moved to the corner and this time, oh YES, this time the battlefield gods were with him and the static broke up.

"Jack?"

O'Neill was so damn glad to hear the response that he didn't give a shit that it wasn't in proper form. "Daniel, report."

Maybe he imagined the snort of laughter, he didn't really care. Turning, he grinned at Carter and gave her a thumb's up, seeing the tight control of her face melt into a huge smile. Daniel was talking and he could hear Rossiter bitching in the background.

"Daniel, give me the -"

"He asked me to report, Frank. Now shut up." Oh yeah, Danny in fine form, as snarky as he could get. "Jack, we ran into some trouble last night. Fell into a tunnel that had collapsed and ran into these eggs. Big eggs. Over."

"I know about the eggs, Daniel. We think they're from the bugs, the same things that attacked you guys and the rest of the SG teams. Over."

He could hear the relief in the tinny voice that responded. "You've been keeping away from them, right Jack?"

O'Neill snorted. "WE aren't the ones who like to touch things, Daniel. Over."

 

"Right. Right. Jack, what do they do?"

No 'over' but O'Neill answered even so. "What do you mean?"

"I mean one of them got Frank." The signal was lousy and even so, he could almost see the look that'd be on Daniel's face, worry creasing his forehead, eyes narrowed with concentration, that was the sound in his voice.

O'Neill swallowed as he weighed what to say. "What do you mean, 'got.'"

Worry was starting to turn to scared, "I mean -"

The signal broke then came back. "He means I had this ugly sucker stuck to my face all night. I don't remember it but Daniel says it was like a spider on my face."

O'Neill felt ill. He took his finger off the button and took a deep breath, trying to settle his guts. Looked back around and saw Teal'c talking to Sam, saw her face go ashy white and her eyes swivel quick to him, hand slashing across her throat. Teal'c had looked up too, then started for him fast.

This didn't make sense. He hesitated, clicked send, "It looks like we've got some trouble, here, D-" and Teal'c grabbed his hand, yanked the radio free, shaking his head. O'Neill glared, quick anger flashing hot through his veins, then chilling at the look on the Jaffa's face. Fear. Controlled, tightly reined but very real fear.

"I am sorry, O'Neill." Voice low and very tight. "We must leave. Now."

O'Neill blinked, half reached for his radio again, and then stopped at the expression in Teal'c's eyes. He needed information. "What's going on?"

"We have chosen poorly. The reverse of this building supports a large nest."

Nest. Like hornet's nest. O'Neill processed the words and felt his gut twist tighter and tighter at what that might mean. Nest. "Did you see 'em? Any sign of them, Teal'c?"

"I saw nothing, O'Neill, but I believe we are not alone."

They were both moving and Carter was already getting her group on their feet, getting them ready to go. The skin across her cheekbones was pale, pulled tight.

And even so, they were too late. O'Neill saw a flicker in the dark, black on black and one of the researchers screamed. And yeah, like he'd thought. Hoping for things to go right - that was just too much to ask.

 

_____________________________________________

Teal'c saw them first. Saw a glossy, inhuman shape drop down as the fragile tiles of the ceiling exploded into fragments and dust. In one calm, frozen moment he saw them clearly before the Tau'ri could, and it made no difference at all. He saw one reach out and seize a woman, dragging her screaming into the dark.

That was the last calm moment for a long time.

Major Carter's weapon broke the quiet and the dark; bullets hammering into an enemy she barely saw as muzzle flash shattered Teal'c's dark-adapted view.

He was about to wade in when O'Neill grabbed his arm. "Not you. You stay on the fringes, Teal'c!"

He glared, wishing to protest but there was no time. Another instant and he understood as one of the creatures peeled away from the group, lunging towards him to be jolted by the Colonel's fire. The MP-5 shook it, knocked it sideways and down until Teal'c's staff weapon burned it in two. He looked up to O'Neill whose voice sounded faint in the din. "You draw them out, I'll knock 'em down, you fry 'em!"

"Indeed." It was a good plan if they could draw their enemy thin. He moved in, circling into range of another, feeling his prim'ta writhe.

Major Carter was firing steadily. He smelled acid and blood, heard screams of pain as well as fear but there was no time to look. Another creature had turned to fixate on him. It loped from the pack, head low and this time he took it with the staff weapon first, firing into its glossy, elongated skull. It squealed and fell, writhing wildly, its tail slamming aside big blocks of masonry and debris.

Acid drops flew from the struggle, sparkling bright in the lights the Tau'ri were training on the fight. The researchers had huddled together, he heard Elaine Stromburg's shouted orders telling them to get down, turn on their lights, spotlight the "bastard things."

A quick flash of pain shrilled up his left leg as claws raked him. He spun, seeing a creature lunge up from the cluttered floor and swept across with his staff, blocking a second strike. A Tau'ri scream of rage behind him sounded very sharp, very loud, Major Carter's voice shouting "Teal'c! Get down!"

He ducked and the small shape of a grenade clattered onto the ground and past him, to stop by the creature's feet. It shrieked and spun too late, thermite going off and catching it along the haunches, sending it rolling away on fire. Teal'c's staff cut its struggles short and then O'Neill was next to him again, face marked by blood dripping from a wound in his scalp. "Gotta keep playing bait, Teal'c!"

He could see the quick regret on the Tau'ri's face, and answered it with a rare attempt at a grin. Saw O'Neill understand, a look of respect and grim intent. The colonel pointed to Major Carter, who crouched with two of their rescuees. One was dragging the other, covered by her fire. Two creatures were feinting in, one then the other. Teal'c nodded, noting another creature between him and her. "O'Neill."

He pointed, and the Tau'ri nodded, holding up another thermite grenade. "You've got three to get clear."

Plan made as quickly as that. He scanned, noting five remaining 'bugs.' Two by the Major, one coming now for him, one slinking towards Stromburg and a man, and the one dragging the struggling woman away.

O'Neill was right behind him as he dove past the one closing on him. One of the Tau'ri's absurd sports came to mind, the races with dogs chasing rodents. He was the rodent now, diving past to distract a huge and deadly thing. And the shout of triumph behind him, "Gotcha, motherfucker!" told him to keep going, that O'Neill had his six.

One of the two pinning the Major turned to face him now. Teal'c slammed its head with his staff, not wanting to fire at it when the Tau'ri were so close. A trail of acid burns stung violently across one shoulder, reminding him to draw these things away from his team. His Goa'uld could heal him, but they would just burn.

Two of SG-4 were by the Major, defended by her. The wounded airman was shouting, keeping a light trained on the creature that Carter fought, while the civilian at his side was lobbing another grenade. Teal'c slammed his creature again, staggering it. He brought the butt of the staff around to fend off the claws. Its body writhed and the tail swept towards his feet, a blur in the uncertain light.

Teal'c felt the shock of the blow as it knocked him down. He rolled to get clear and came up knowing that the creature would strike for his face. He brought up his staff as he rose and fired, hearing it hit, squeezing shut his eyes against the sight of flame, and the smell of acid on fire.

Vapor scorched his face and he hissed, backing away, hearing more automatic weapons fire. He couldn't see, eyes tearing with pain. Then a hand was suddenly on his arm and he nearly struck before he understood that it was a human touch. A man's voice shouted, sounding distant to noise-stunned ears. "You need to get back!"

He was one of the engineers. Teal'c felt him grab his hand and pull. "You need to get back! They're throwing grenades!"

The heat at his back supported the words. Teal'c followed, letting him get them into the sun outside. He rubbed at streaming eyes. "How many are left?"

Beside him, he could make out a dark blur. "I think it's almost over. Your Major just got ours. The Colonel and Stromburg, they've got the other one on the run."

"Dr. Stromburg?" Teal'c strained, wishing he could see. "Her position did not seem good."

A snort answered that. "I think Elaine could scare them off. Seems to me she had Corbier's gun. I think I saw her shooting at the bugs."

Teal'c shut his eyes tight, feeling the pain begin to ease, though it wasn't completely gone yet. The weapons fire had tapered off, now it finally stopped altogether. He smelled days of human sweat, felt the heat from the man next to him and turned towards the panting breaths he heard so close. "How many did we lose. Did you see?"

There was a catch in the breaths. "Terry. I saw one of them take Terry Schenk."

"Teal'c?" He caught the familiar scent of O'Neill's sweat, then his worried voice, startlingly near. "You okay?"

"I am recovering, O'Neill." He opened his eyes, then shut them fast as they teared up and ached again. "My eyes are slightly burned. I encountered vapor when one of the creatures burned."

"Fucking bugs!" O'Neill cursed. "Let me see."

Teal'c turned his face towards the man, squinting through tears again. There was a blur topped with a pale smudge and Major Carter's scent, dirty and rank after days on the move, but welcome all the same. "Did we successfully defend? I was unable to see the battle complete."

"We lost one." It was neither O'Neill nor Major Carter who spoke, but Stromburg. Her voice was dull. "We lost one. Only one. We could have all been killed."

Teal'c's eyesight was clearer now. He could see O'Neill's blurry face, see Major Carter put a hand on Stromburg's arm. "That's a 'might have been.'"

Stromburg was pale, her face pinched. Major Carter looked over at O'Neill, at Teal'c. O'Neill had straightened, looking Stromburg's way. "Carter, why don't you take a look at Teal'c, see if there's anything he needs. I'll talk with Elaine."

The two of them moved off. Beside him the man who'd helped him slumped and let out a breath. "Christ. I thought we were dead."

Major Carter had pulled Teal'c down and was studying his eyes. "Responsive. Really red, Teal'c, but the surface looks nice and smooth. Can you see me okay?"

"I see you." He blinked, looked after O'Neill then back to her. "They are merely sore and will recover."

Major Carter was standing very, very straight. A small muscle flickered along the line of her jaw as she nodded. Her fingers pressed briefly along the side of his neck, then were gone. "I didn't -"

She cut her comment off and pinched her lips tightly shut, then looked over at the man who was still standing there. "You did good back there. With the lights and the grenades."

He blinked hard at her words. When he spoke, there was a tremor in his voice. "I was scared. I thought I'd piss myself I was so scared."

Major Carter glanced up, meeting Teal'c's gaze, then she looked back at the engineer. Teal'c tilted his head towards the man. "To be frightened of such is a wise response."

Wide, brown eyes were flicking nervously around and the man stayed close, as if afraid to stray. "Do you think there are more?"

Beside him, Major Carter twitched, then held herself very still. "Not right here. I'm sure there are more, but if they were here they'd have attacked when we were all clustered and easy to take. But we need to get ready to move. Can you look after Corbier? You were great with him."

A stunned smile answered. "You think so? He told me what to do."

The Major gave him a wide, appealing smile. "You were great. You two did a great job. You helped us stay focused and on target, Dave."

Ah. Teal'c made note of the name. "Indeed. And I appreciated your assistance, as well. I believe you prevented me from being further injured."

Dave was relaxing, looking less scared now although he still shook. Major Carter gestured. "Got the shakes? Adrenaline. I know what that's like."

"Yeah." Dave nodded, but he'd started to look around, look less like he feared stepping away. "I better go get Alan. Airman Corbier."

Teal'c watched him walk away, noted the small sigh of relief from the woman at his side. "No wonder he's scared."

He looked at her, watching Major Carter hold herself firmly upright and smelled the adrenaline on her, as well. "I share that view."

"That he should be scared?" The Major looked up, a small, grim smile quirking the corner of her mouth. "It could have been him it dragged off."

"Perhaps we all are due our fear." Teal'c blinked hard, relieved to be able to see further now, to make out the green and see the shadows for what they were. "You also did well."

"I lost one." Major Carter's voice was flat and harsh.

Teal'c nodded. "Yes. But you saved two, and myself."

Her lips were pulled to the tight, thin line again. For an instant her raw nerves showed. "It's like leaving Daniel behind. A numbers game. I lost one but saved three. But does that woman think I'm hot shit? I doubt it."

"You are not a green recruit." Teal'c let his tone sharpen just a hint, then softened it again. "You understand as well as I that our position is weak. We cannot attack."

The Major scrubbed angrily at her hair, ground the heels of her hands into her eyes and smeared the sweat and sap and grime on her face. "I know. I KNOW that. But who's next? When does the cost get too high?"

Teal'c sighed. "I do not have an answer, Major Carter. Any answer is one you must find yourself."

She looked up at him. "I know. Isn't this when you usually pretend you don't understand something I say and I can pretend to stop thinking about this crap?"

Teal'c smiled at her, a genuine smile, though a sad one. "I have not known those games to comfort you. But I do have something I think could help. Did you see where my pack was left?"

She looked puzzled, then went for his pack. Teal'c studied her back, looking over to be sure that O'Neill was still engaged. His friends were both tense, visibly holding themselves too tightly. He understood O'Neill's control and the need to keep focused, but Major Carter was worse, her nerves stretching too far without release. She needed to let go, and perhaps O'Neill needed it from her as well. Teal'c studied her as he opened his pack, seeing the nerves she tried to hide instead of letting the tension go. That would not serve her or them well.

He found his quarry by touch, and gently grasped the wrapper he sought. Misunderstood words would not distract her but perhaps . . . he held out part of his secret stash.

"Ding Dongs?" Her voice was incredulous, laughter bubbling up so fast it caught her off guard and she giggled. "Teal'c? DING DONGS?"

Teal'c assumed the mantle of dignity that only a First Prime could wear. "I have found that adversity is often best met by chocolate."

"I thought you didn't eat stuff with caffeine?" She reached for the treats, hesitated as she met his eyes, then snatched them from his hand. "Oh yum!"

"I do not habitually consume them, but in desperate times . . ."

She had chocolate on her lips, and her cheek bulged with a mouthful of cake. "There are desperate needs. Oh, Teal'c, you're an angel. This just hits the spot. Ding Dongs. Who knew?"

This time he did not let his smile show, but nodded to her instead. "Indeed."

His eyes had stopped stinging and felt clear. As he watched her she relaxed, her eyes also clearer, less clouded by anger and doubt. It wasn't an answer. There was still a long way to go, but when she glanced over to meet O'Neill's eyes, he could see them come to accord and that would suffice for now.


	9. Tarantella 9

Shit shit shit. Things had gone to hell in handbasket so long ago that Frank Rossiter didn't know what to call this, but it was definitely worse. He swore and got a tighter grip on the Doc's shoulders, giving him a little shake. The man ignored him. He was holding the radio so tight that Frank could see his knuckles were white. His voice had a hard, scary tone as he tried to raise SG-1 again.

 

They didn't answer. Not that Frank was expecting them to after the way they'd cut off in mid-sentence like that. Not good. And the Doc knew it, too. Oh yeah, there was no doubt about that. Daniel Jackson knew the score and he didn't like it. Hated it in fact.

Understatement of the decade, that. Straight up and no fries on side, the Doc was losing it. Bad. Frank tried to pry the radio out of his fingers again. "Doc, please. Let go."

Daniel yanked the radio back to his chest and glared at Frank, backing up a step. Frank, still holding his shoulders, really didn't want to let go. Not when the guy was like this. Daniel's eyes narrowed and he tried to wrench himself free. "Don't touch me."

"This isn't helping." Frank tried to keep his voice low, soothing. He wished he was better at the touchy-feely crap, the shit where they taught you to talk somebody down. "Jeez, Doc. Listen to me, okay? They're probably fine. They'll call us. They will."

Christ, but that sounded thin. Fuckin' anorexic. "God, Frank. You're a lousy liar. Sam lies better than that." The Doc bit down hard on his lip, shaking his head. He had this strange little smile on his face like he wanted to laugh but not because it was funny. Frank knew the feeling. Remembered it from just a couple days before. Doc’s voice was terrible. "’They'll call'? Sure. If they can." And that was the heart of one of their problems. That big, fuckin' 'if' thing. Daniel knew it - Frank could hear it in his ashy, dead tone. And he wanted to respect that and let the guy keep hammering at the radio until his people either answered or he gave up, but standing here, in the middle of a jungle in a stretch with no cover, that wasn't the place for it.

"Daniel, they'll call." Nice words. Frank almost meant them. But truth to tell, when somebody was talking to you and suddenly cut off like Colonel O'Neill had, then Frank wasn't gonna be holding his breath waiting for the Colonel to call back like, 'oops, bad connection and just drove into a tunnel.' Truth to tell, he wasn't so sure the Colonel could call back. And Daniel Jackson was too damn smart not to have figured the same thing. "Look, Doc, you guys have a lot of time under your belts, you know how to handle yourselves. We keep moving, they'll call."

The Doc was right. He sucked at lying. Daniel gave a snort that wasn't laughter and shook his head, jerked his shoulders free, lifted the radio again. "SG oh-one-niner, come in. SG oh-one-niner, come on, Jack, pick up the damn phone!"

"He can't." Frank swallowed hard and wrapped his hands around Daniel's, giving them a little shake. "Doc, whatever's happening they don't have time to take calls right now. You know that. You have got to let it go!"

Blue eyes came up and finally focused on his. He could see the muscles jumping along the Doc's jawline, feel how tightly the tendons in his hands were pulled. "I can't let go, Frank. I've got to . . . " He mouthed a couple words, like he almost said them out loud but stopped, shook his head. "I need to be there."

"I know." He did know. Figured he'd see his team in that Goa'uld ship for the rest of his life and dreaded those dreams. He knew exactly what was putting the heeby jeebies up Daniel Jackson’s back. "Daniel, we have to get moving again. We can't stop here."

"We have to stay."

Frank tensed, hearing that stubborn, irrational note again. He squeezed down hard on the hands wrapped around the radio, hoping that little pain would get through and bring the guy back down to earth. "We can't. This place is lousy, Daniel. We can't defend it. We have to move."

"This is where we can pick up their signal." Daniel was staring into his eyes, emphasizing the words with little tugs on his hands. "Frank, we have to stay here until they call. If we move, we may not be able to pick them back up again."

"Fuck." Frank squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head a little. Most guys, they'd get in a tight spot and they'd stop thinking and just react and if you needed to get 'em moving, you just told 'em to move. Or they told you. Why the hell did he have to end up stranded with the one guy who panicked and STILL got his brain into gear? "Doc, Daniel, we cannot stay here. Hell, your Colonel O'Neill'd kick my ass if he found out I'd let you talk me into that one."

Daniel's eyes narrowed, arms crossed like a shield, the radio still clutched in one hand. "Go if you want but I'm not moving."

"GOD DAMN IT!" Both of them jumped at the shout and Frank looked around nervously, face flushing at his loss of control. Much, much more softly he continued, "Damn it, Doc, don't do this to me. We CAN'T stay here. You hear me? We have got to get moving."

Daniel looked around him, looked back. "I'm staying. Right here. Until they call."

Frank had looked too and it pissed him off. Put the shivers up his spine to just look at the crappy place, and now he grabbed Daniel's shoulder and spun him around, pointing out why they had to move one detail at a time. "Look. Look. You see what I see? We're in the fuckin' MIDDLE of a city block! All the walls here are intact, no open fronts to take cover in. You see any place to defend, cause I sure as hell don't! And you want to park your skinny little ass HERE?"

"I. Am. Not. Leaving."

"Jesus. H. CHRIST!" Frank spun him around and got into his face, and it was only training and fear that kept him from screaming. "You don't get it, do you? You're gonna get us killed! We're in a shooting gallery right now and those fuckin' bugs can come at us from either end and we've got no place to hide. Worse, it's a wide street, lots of room to flank us and with just us two, no way to really defend. And the greenery up ahead's thin - I'm betting the street's caved in again up there. There's gonna be more of the fuckers around and we're just sitting ducks here. Do you see? WE CANNOT STAY!"

He could feel Daniel trembling under his hand, feel the way the muscles in his shoulders were locked tight. The man yanked away and turned to face him, expression hard and voice harsh and just a little shrill. "I don't care. I'm staying. I do not care, Frank. Until I hear from them I'm not making a move!"

Frank reached out and grabbed him, shook him. "You're not making sense!"

"I don't care!" Daniel's face was red now, flushed and angry and he was ranting like a madman. "I don't care I don't care! I am not moving! I'm not losing another one, goddamn it, I'm not! I'm not I'm not I'm not . . ."

"You're not making sense!"

"Go to hell."

"Goddamn it, Doc! This is fuckin' crazy! Are you out of your mind?"

"Yes!" Daniel spun, screamed it at him. "Ask anybody, I'm crazy! Flaky! Out of my mind!!! Why else would I be here? I'm staying right here!"

"That doesn't make sense! You're not making sense!"

"I know. Don't you think I know that?" Daniel suddenly stopped, stood very still, arms dropping to his side and voice barely more than a whisper when he spoke again. "I know it doesn't make sense. I don't care. They'll call. I stay here and they'll call."

Frank watched him wrap himself up in his arms and huddle in, and couldn't make heads or tails of it. Just felt lost. He finally reached out and touched the guy's shoulder, gave him a gentle little shake. Daniel's face came up a little, enough that Frank could see his cheeks were dry but his eyes were red, a deep frown etched between his eyebrows. "Daniel."

"I can't go, Frank. Not until they call." He had to lean close to hear the words, they were so soft.

"That doesn't make sense, Daniel. You know it. They're doing what they have to do and you staying here won't change that a bit. The best thing you can do for them right now is to take care of yourself."

His head came all the way up, blue eyes searching. "Is that how you do it? Is that what they train you to do? Cover your ass and things get better? Move on and it stops hurting?"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on." Frank combed his fingers back through his greasy hair and shook his head. "You just lost me, Doc. You gonna explain that to me?"

Daniel blinked slowly, almost sleepily. His voice was flat. "I can't do that soldier-boy thing, Frank. Move on and do my duty and don't look back. That's not what I am. You'd think I'd have learned it after all this time but I can't do it. I can't lose them. I've lost too many of them and I can't do it again."

"Doc." Frank tugged and this time Daniel took a step or two before he stopped and dug in his heels. "What? You think it's like magic and if you stand here and wish hard enough they'll be fine? You know better than that. You've been doing the job long enough. You know that's not how it works. You can't help them like that."

"I . . ." Daniel stopped, waved the hand that held the radio and bit down on his lips hard. Then heaved a long sigh. "I need to know what . . . I need to hear. If we move I'll lose them."

Frank stared at him helplessly, then finally nodded and sat down hard. "You know they'll kill us."

Daniel stared at him. "Get up. You were going to . . . " He waved ahead of him. "You need to. You were right."

"And what? That plays out one of three ways." Frank held up three fingers and ticked them off one at a time. "One, I go on and I get whacked by a bug cause frankly, our chances suck with two of us. One by himself? That's just ugly." He folded down the finger.

Daniel winced and reached for his sidearm. "You should take -"

"Shut up." Frank cut him off calmly. "Even if that popgun would make a difference I wouldn't take it. Two, I make it and you don't. Because I might make it but I really don't think you would. And your Colonel and SG-1 make it too. And I have to tell them I left you behind because I couldn't talk you out of playing Dorothy and standing here and clicking your heels together, wishing for them to be okay. So maybe they're alive but do you think any of us are okay? Ever again? Even if you do get back alive then I'm stuck sitting there knowing I left you behind, even if your team doesn't manage to find a way to shoot me in the back."

Daniel scrunched up his face. "You're trying to make me feel guilty."

"Damn straight! And I'm trying to make you think and I'm starting to wonder just what you DO have between your ears, Doc! You been snorting too much mummy dust if you think I could leave you here." Frank summoned up a ferocious scowl. "And three, I get back and maybe you do or maybe you don't but SG-1 doesn't. Then all your waiting meant is that, at the very best, you get back late and I have a heart attack and we didn't do them any good at all. You getting me here?"

Daniel blinked hard, then shut his eyes and just stood there for a minute. Frank waited. The Doc finally drew a long, noisy breath and his whole body seemed to sag. "It feels like I'm leaving them."

"You know that's not true."

Over-bright blue eyes met his. "I've known it wasn't true every time it happened but that doesn't change how it feels. I've had it, Frank. I can't do this again."

"Leaving SG-1?" Frank said it hesitantly, honestly not sure if that's what the guy meant.

"Any of them, Frank. Jack, Sam, Teal'c, Sha're and Skaa'ra, everybody. I know I couldn't change it and I know I need to leave but I've left so many of them behind."

Frank sat silent for a minute, trying to figure it out and all the answers he came up with were ugly as hell. Daniel wasn't saying anything more, but the exhaustion on his face spoke for him. Frank finally stood up and held out a hand. "I could tell you even one's too many or that we've all got ghosts, but that's bullshit and it never made me feel any better to hear that some other guy was in pain too. All I can tell you is that you don't want to be somebody else's ghost, Daniel. It's hard enough to live with. You gonna make somebody else live with it? Me and maybe Jack and Sam and Teal'c? What'd we do to deserve that? I don't deserve it and I don't deserve to die nasty here, like this."

Daniel shuddered. It just shook him from the top of his head on down and Frank could hear the shit in his pack rattle when he did it, but then he stood very still, almost like he wasn't even breathing. There wasn't any noise - the insects or whatever in the undergrowth were quiet, no wind, just the dripping rain. It ran down Daniel's face when he lifted it to the sky. He finally nodded, and spoke very quietly. "This sucks."

Frank felt a relieved smile start to stretch his lips. "Yeah, it does."

This time Daniel let himself be pulled into motion, and didn't fight. He was quiet. Everything was quiet, even their feet as the leaf litter swallowed up the sound of their steps. Frank shuddered and glanced behind them, wondering why the little critters that always started up after they'd passed wouldn't notch up the volume now. And figured he knew the answer and he didn't like it at all.

"We've got company." He spoke very softly. Daniel jerked just a little but didn’t look over his shoulder, didn’t give them away. The guy might not be a soldier-boy but he'd picked up some tricks. Frank tilted his head back towards the street behind them, saw Daniel's eyes track. "About half a block back, I saw something move just a little."

Frank grinned just a little. "Jeez, gonna make a real soldier out of you yet! Why didn't you say anything?"

Daniel grimaced. "I thought it was the wind."

"I take it back. There hasn't been a wind all day, Doc." Frank gestured. "See that spot up ahead at the start of the next block? Cornerwise to us? I figure we hunker down there for the night."

"Is that a good idea?" Daniel glanced back openly now and Frank reached over and cuffed him on the back of the head. "I've been thinking, the bugs attack by light. Maybe we should be moving at night . . ."

"And sleeping when they're hunting, and we're too tired to keep a good eye out for them? I don't think so. We're spending the night in the Bugville Holiday Inn there and if our guest gets too close, we're gonna blow up his shit before bedtime."

Daniel didn't argue to Frank's relief. Just headed for the corner spot and let the Airman bring up the rear. Whatever was tailing them kept its distance and played it safe, not what he'd expect from a bug. It didn't put his mind at ease. He did a fast recon of their accommodations, finding the rear access nicely blocked by a collapsed ceiling and the front looking defensible. Daniel had pulled together a pile of clutter and set it alight and the flickering fire played over the walls in the deepening gloom as Frank settled down where he could keep an eye on the street outside. "Michelin gives this place zero stars, so I'd skip the room service if I were you, Doc."

"I'll remember that.” Daniel glanced up at him and visibly made an effort. “You find a mint on the pillow?"

Frank smiled, feeling a little of his tension relax. "Oh yeah. But they don't have cable."

"That's okay. We can watch the neighbors." Daniel was staring out into the drizzly evening. No way to tell if the sun was setting except that gray was getting grayer out there. At least that meant no bugs. Probably. They hoped. As if.

Frank sighed and reached for one of the MREs that Daniel had gotten out. His stomach had been growling for the last hour and was sore as hell now. Frank rubbed at it, wishing for Pepto. "I am so tired of eating this shit."

Daniel was looking at him now, that little worried frown deepening. "You okay? You look kind of -"

Frank gasped at a sudden pain in his gut. "Jeez. This is killer heartburn and I haven't even eaten yet." He tried to burp, see if that'd make it better but the pain sharpened, stole the breath out of his lungs and doubled him over. He couldn't help the sharp little scream that lurched from his throat, or the way his weapon clattered to the ground. Daniel's hands were on his shoulders now, pushing him back and Frank sobbed for air, barely hearing the questions and the babble of words from the guy. Blood pounded in his ears and the pain was ripping through him, tearing him open until it was all he felt and he wrapped his arms around his belly and felt something move and screamed and screamed and screamed.

____________________________________________________________

"Nobody deserves to die like that."

Jack O'Neill had heard it before and while he sympathized with Stromburg, he was desperately wishing that Carter would come distract her and rescue him.

"Oh, she was unpopular, that's true," the little woman went on as if O'Neill had done something as foolish as to prompt her. "She had a difficult personality and she overcompensated."

O'Neill didn't answer her, but somebody else did. "She was a cast iron, tin-plated bitch and if anybody deserved to go like that, she did."

"David Hausner! Shame!" Stromberg spun and shook a finger at the bearded man, who met O'Neill's eyes over her head and rolled his own in exasperation.

"Elaine, she was a bitch and a whiner and if she hadn't gone screaming off in a panic it's entirely possible that we'd all be off this godforsaken hellhole by now."

Well, that was new. O'Neill perked up his ears; Carter had said it was Stromberg who'd panicked but maybe intel needed an adjust.

"David, don't speak ill of the dead. You . . . she . . . " Stromberg was flustered, spluttering with outrage and grief and O'Neill knew a break when he saw one. He saw Dave Hausner notice when he edged back, but the tech just raised his voice and launched another assault on the character of the not-so-dearly departed and O'Neill made his escape.

Carter was covering flank while Teal'c broke the trail in front. O'Neill stayed clear of her swing but studied her a moment, seeing shadowed eyes, a grim set to her mouth. He tapped at the radio on his shoulder. "You didn't have any luck either?"

She paused and glanced back at him before swinging again. "No. Not even a break in the static. Whatever worked in that pocket we've lost it again."

"We'll keep trying, every corner. You okay out here?"

She nodded, shot him a tight smile. "I'm fine. I'd rather be out here than listening to the wake."

So that was it. O'Neill shuddered at the memory of half an hour spent listening to Stromburg eulogize a woman who no one had liked. "Sometimes you are very evil Major, did you know that?"

"I'll respectfully decline to comment, Sir," she answered, panting a little theatrically. O'Neill grinned and moved on, catching up with Teal'c. The Jaffa moved smoothly, clearing his path with big, even swings that were as powerful as they'd been on the first day. It was enough to fill a man with envy if the price tag weren't a snake in the gut.

O'Neill studied him a moment. "Everything kosher, Teal'c?"

A glance, a raised eyebrow, but the expected comment didn't come. "We make good time, O'Neill. This avenue is easier than those traversed before."

Yeah. What he said. O'Neill nodded sagely. "We break at the next corner, okay? We'll need to find a secure site before long, too."

"I have not seen more nests, O'Neill. And this area feels . . . " He hesitated, waved with the machete in an oddly human gesture that seemed familiar. "This area feels safer."

"You been watching the Iron Chef again, Teal'c?" A small smirk answered and O'Neill scored one for himself on his mental scoreboard. "By the way, 'Ding Dongs'?"

Another, slightly wider smirk as Teal'c dropped his head in one of those courtly bows that usually meant he thought you were full of shit but was too polite to say so. "The name is most euphonious, is it not?"

O'Neill lost it. Just lost it. Little snorts down his nose became little whickers which turned into giggles which became guffaws. Their little wagon train to the stars came to a roaring halt and all and sundry turned to stare but every time he tried to stop he thought ‘Ding Dongs’ and started again. Damn it!

Teal'c was watching him, machete tucked neatly under one arm. O'Neill looked at him and barely managed to strangle his snicker, clenching his teeth and maintaining a straight face by sheer force of will. "So. " His voice was squeaky, he knew it, but at least he wasn't giggling anymore. "So. Umm. Stop at each corner?"

Teal'c nodded, face suddenly somber. "I would be glad of Daniel Jackson's voice. I will not forget to stop."

"Yeah." O'Neill abruptly had no desire to laugh at all, hand unconsciously fingering the radio on his shoulder. "What you said."

He was really starting to hate that radio. It just gave him static at the first corner, and the second. O'Neill could see his own tension mirrored on Carter's face and, more subtly, in Teal'c alertness each time they came to a corner. Stromberg and her people recognized it - hard to miss it with SG-1 clustering together on each try, damn near holding their collective breath until they had to accept that static was all they were getting. The scientists asked them at first, offered constructive comments about repeaters that O'Neill didn't want to hear. He watched Carter tense, then rein in her anger, taking it out on the greenery. She'd wipe herself out like that, but he couldn't bring himself to say a word when he knew he was just as bad.

At least it broke the path like nobody's business, leaving it wide and relatively clear for the guys carrying that poor bastard Corbier. The airman's groans were muffled but O'Neill had gotten a look at the acid burns once and it had left him with a bad taste in the back of his mouth.

It was getting dark as they found the right corner, a place that Teal'c and he both liked. He wasn't really expecting an answer anymore and was trying not to think about it. Trying to convince himself that bad repeaters and bad terrain were good reasons for nothing but static. But there was something this time, right away. Static clearing and a voice breathlessly answering, "Jack?"

"Daniel! What the fuck have you been doing, we've been trying to get you all day." And the afterthought, nod to conventions of use, "out."

"Sorry, Jack, little bit busy here." That sounded wrong. Really wrong. O'Neill had heard a lot of Daniel Jackson's voice in the last several years and what he heard now was making his hair stand on end and his stomach tie itself into a knot.

"Daniel, what's your situation?"

"Busy. Look, Jack, I've got something on my hands here. I'll get back to you."

"Daniel?!" He got ready to open the call again, ready for the little shit to drop the connection but that didn't happen. The line stayed open. He looked up at Carter and Teal'c as all three huddled close, listening. At first they heard only harsh, panting breaths and Jack found himself panting along with them. Carter too, when he looked up at her. Teal'c leaned in closer. "What is that noise?"

Hell if O'Neill knew. It sounded like wet meat, was his first thought. He shuddered at the notion and frowned, listening. Something hissed and Daniel swore, then gunfire. All three of them jerked back then leaned forward, pale and tense. Daniel's voice was hoarse, scared, "that's right, you shit, just stay there . . . " The words broke off in a sharp scream and a sound like a body hitting the ground, scuffling that could mean anything and Daniel's voice again. "Jack, can't send much. Radio drives 'em nuts. Rossiter's dead and - kanith!"

O'Neill shut his eyes tight, listening. He didn't need to see the look in Carter and Teal'c's eyes as they all waited, imagining all too clearly how Rossiter could have died. How Daniel might die as they listened.

"Khara beek! Catch, you ugly -" The noises were so fast it was hard to make one out from another, Daniel's scream and a vicious, alien squeal and a noise that they'd all heard before, the low, droning whine of -

"A ribbon device?" He looked up at Carter, mouthing the words even as she spoke them. Another squeal, another blast and then silence until O'Neill felt dizzy from holding his breath.

When Daniel finally spoke again, he sucked in a lungful of air. "Who are you?"

"I am your master, Tau'ri." All three of them startled, looking between each other, confirming that all had heard the double tones of a Goa'uld. "Remove that device."

"No." Daniel's voice was a little shaky, but oddly calm. "I have friends here."

Then a sharp curse, Daniel's voice raised in anger and a strange, scuffing noise. The Goa'uld announced "I am your only friend and your only hope in this place, you fool." And then the radio squealed and went dead.

Not static, connection not lost. Connection dead. O'Neill was shaking. So was Carter, and Teal'c's face was drawn and tight. The three stared at each other in horror. O'Neill finally wet his lips. And found he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

____________________________________________________________

"Jesus Christ!" He didn't even believe in that god, but the words were the first on his lips. Frank was screaming, curses and pain and writhing on the ground and Daniel didn't know what to do. He shucked his pack and dropped to his knees, trying to see in the twilight and gloom. Grabbed for Frank's shoulder to hold him still, trying to get a pulse and knowing it was absurd all the while.

"Ohh, CRAP!" Frank sobbed with pain, throwing himself back and forth on the ground. Daniel put his weight into it, trying to hold him still.

"What's wrong? TALK to me Frank! I can't help you!"

"GodohGod it hurts HURTS HURTS!" The screams tore at Daniel's ears. Frank had his arms wrapped around his gut, and Daniel pulled hard, cursing the black tee shirts that made it so hard to see.

"You have to let go, let me -" He grunted as Frank flailed. A hard hand caught his face, knocked him back. Daniel shook his head, letting his glasses fall and threw himself back into it, pushing the Airman back down.

Frank was howling now, an air raid siren of agony, drumming his heels on the ground. Daniel got a hand against his chest and pulled at one of the arms the Airman had wrapped around his middle. There, he let go. For an instant Daniel's field was clear and he pressed his hands to Frank's belly, feeling drenched warmth and something so wrong his mind couldn't really take it in.

Something was moving. Had to be a broken bone, torn skin, how could it happen, Daniel's mind was prattling on trying to find an explanation for what he felt but it wasn't making sense. Frank's arms had locked into rictus at his sides, bent at the elbows and hands in claws, shaking, unable to fold across his belly anymore. He was keening.

Fluid splattered into the air. The coppery smell made Daniel want to gag. He knew the smell of blood. God help him, he knew the feel of it too. Didn't believe in gods. Gods wouldn't let this happen and another gout of blood hit him in the face, splashed across his chest and something moved against the black shirt.

It was slippery, rounded and smooth. Like touching squid but hard. And hot, body heat, body warmth. Something jagged stabbed into Daniel's hand as he jerked it back and there was the dull, white gleam of bone. He was glad he didn't have his glasses, with the blood splashing and whatever he felt under his hands had to be intestines or stomach or lungs, had to be, just had to be.

Wasn't.

Something moved under his hand, strong and sure. It pushed him and bit down and he shrieked and yanked his hand away. A little bit of skin tore from the side of his hand and he hissed at the pain. Something hissed back. Not human. Something made a wet, sucking sound. Nothing human.

Frank wasn't screaming anymore. He was gurgling, making choked noises of agony that rattled with fluid. Little sobs that sounded like a name but Daniel couldn't be sure. His mind was noting them absently, tracking the sounds and tracking how the blood felt dripping down his face and noting the noises he was making now.

Terrified, whining little sounds that he hated to hear from himself. He scrabbled back away, crouched and staring. And wasn't sure if he wished his eyesight were better or worse as he saw something shiny moving up, hulking above Frank's body. There was a last, horrible, wet noise and Daniel saw it move free.

Glasses, they were here, somewhere. He couldn't look away from the shiny, red-streaked form that unfolded from what had been Frank. There was a last gurgle, a moaning sigh and Daniel smelled urine and shit mixed with blood in the air. His fingers touched something hard on the ground. Glasses. He'd found them. Lifted them to his face, not sure he wanted to see and too terrified not to. Slid them into place, shuddering at the sticky, tacky-wet feel of his hands brushing against his face.

It looked like something extruded, not grown. That little bit of his mind that was taking notes, catching details, saw a smooth skull, shorter than the creature that had threatened him and . . . his mind shied away from that thought. Noted instead arms and a torso that seemed ribbed and roped, almost mechanical, but that moved with insectile grace. It didn't walk, it hopped, moving away from the wreckage of . . .

Daniel blinked and moved sideways towards his pack. Its head cocked as it noted the movement but it neither retreated or attacked. Merely took note. Probably didn't perceive a threat, the analytical little voice parroted in his head as his hands fumbled at buckles, pawed blindly through pockets for the thermite he knew was there.

It might not perceive his moving as a threat but when his radio burst into noise the thing spun, head moving low to ground and jaws suddenly gaping wide. Daniel almost screamed at the sight of fangs. His radio erupted again, static and Jack's voice demanding that he answer. A shiny, gray tail whipped angrily back and forth and the thing hissed.

"Jack?"

"Daniel! What the fuck have you been doing, we've been trying to get you all day! Out." Oh god, oh god, he'd sound like Frank when it killed him, he knew. Had to answer, just had to because otherwise Jack wouldn't shut up.

"Sorry, Jack, little bit busy here." It hissed again, but didn't move towards him. The tail was still whipping back and forth but it didn't seem to mind.

"Daniel, what's your situation?" It minded THAT. Jack's voice, tinny from the radio speaker brought it upright all at once, screeching in outrage and lunging towards him.

Daniel backed up fast, a thermite grenade in one hand. He reached up to his radio, punching it on and praying his instinct was right. "Busy. Look, Jack, I've got something on my hands here. I'll get back to you."

"Daniel?!" The thing jerked and hissed again, swiping at him with a claw. Daniel gave a choked yell and fell back, rolling.

Now it cared where he was and now it was pissed. Daniel left his radio on, sending to keep it from making more noise but by now it might be too late. The thing hissed, an angry sound, and paced him as he backed away. Jesus Christ, he thought again as his heels hit something soft and big. He screamed as he tumbled backwards, falling across what was left of Frank. Blind, dead eyes caught his for an instant until a steam-pipe hiss made him blink and a sudden white-hot pain scored across one shin. Daniel gasped and shoved himself backwards, not able to care what he stepped on, hearing wet sounds as it kept coming after him.

He had something for the thing, though. Daniel crouched, ready to scramble away, with the thermite grenade in his hand. He was talking to it, he suddenly heard, swearing and saying "That's right, you shit, just stay there . . ." Then it lunged and he dropped the grenade, rolling back.

Jack was still out there, listening. He knew it, and it made him feel sick. There was so much he wanted to say. Instead, he gasped out, "Jack, can't send much. Radio drives 'em nuts. Rossiter's dead and - kanith!" Oh yes, 'shit' indeed as it hissed and swatted again. Just a baby bug but it was long and spiky, and he knew he was right to be scared. Scared? Fucking out of his mind terrified more like it.

Daniel circled again, patting the ground, heading back to where he'd dropped the grenade. Caught himself thinking, 'Thank you, Frank, you died in a clearing where I could move, and you may have just saved my life.' There it was. He heard his foot hit it and patted the ground, eyes never leaving the thing. Found the grenade and pulled the pin, counting to himself.

Here it came. He swore, Arabic words on his tongue, "Khara beek! Catch, you ugly - AH!" Falling back and rolling again as the tail swept around and it was past the grenade and still coming as the thermite went up in a flare! He was dead, he was dead, he'd missed and it was right there reaching for him. Claws. He saw claws, then heard it scream and saw another flash of light, brightly colored, spots in his vision, couldn't see but he heard another familiar energy blast go by.

Ribbon device. He knew the sound. Came up on his knees, surprised to still be alive and turned, seeing the clearing lit by the hellish fire of thermite at his back. The creature was gone and a small, black haired woman stood there, hand upraised.

Daniel panted, with no breath to speak, then finally found his voice. "Who are you?"

"I am your master, Tau'ri." The double tones of a Goa'uld left him no doubt. Her eyes glowed, lip curled. She pointed at the radio on his shoulder. "Remove that device."

"No." Daniel was still alive. He was just starting to believe it. He stank of blood and fear but he was still alive. He looked at the woman and shook his head, hearing a tremor when he spoke. "I have friends here."

Her lips curled back from her teeth and she moved so fast, faster than his shock-addled wits understood. He was still on his knees when she reached out and grabbed the radio, yanking it free. He yelled, swore, as she pulled it away. "I am your only friend and your only hope in this place, you fool."

And then the radio squealed in her hand. He saw tendons stand out and heard plastic break. Little shards dropped to the ground.

Daniel reached out, brushing the shattered bits to one side and the other. "My friends."

A metal-gloved hand closed around his chin, pulling his face up to hers. "I am your only friend and your master, Tau'ri. And you are a fool."

Daniel snorted, hot anger surging and washing away the cold, numb grief and fear. "I'm not the one who just crushed our link with help!"

"You were the one inflaming the vermin, fool!"

"You killed it." He paused, suddenly baffled. "Where did you come from?"

She pushed him away, snarling. He blinked hard, panting for breath and trying to understand. He'd been about to die and she'd killed the thing, or driven it off. He looked around for an instant and didn't see it, though he saw . . . He swallowed hard. He saw the carnage it had made of Frank. Daniel blinked hard, vision blurring for an instant. Then heard the voice of the Goa'uld again. "Pick up your pack and your weapon, fool."

The reflex of rage felt good. Daniel scrambled to his feet, stood swaying and for an instant thought about throwing himself at her. Then stopped, baffled again. She had turned, dark eyes squinting in the brilliant, burning light. She looked tired, bedraggled, and familiar too. "Natalie?"

The sound she made was not a laugh. "You shall not call me by my host's name, slave!"

What was it with snakeheads and exclamations, he thought? Daniel shook his head. "Natalie Peng. What are you doing, snake?"

"You will not call me thus!" The ribboned hand came up, stone glowing. Daniel flinched and braced but the pain never struck. Natalie slowly clenched her fist and lowered it to her side. "You are a fool. And a frightened one. I shall show mercy."

"Oh, please," Daniel snorted, "don't flatter yourself, snake!"

"You shall not address me thus. I am Ziusura."

He tilted his head, puzzled by something strange in the echoing voice. It lacked the usual pompous glee the Goa'uld brought to their threats. Daniel hesitated, then spoke. "You're Ziusura. Right. Well, I'm tired and just about ready to drop where I stand."

It was, he admitted, the truth. He was trembling head to toe with exhaustion and pain. All he wanted, and he wanted it so badly right then, was to go home. Take a hot bath, fall asleep in the tub with a glass of wine, far from the smell of plants and blood and this hellish place. Daniel shut his eyes, swayed, and suddenly felt a hand close on his arm. "Drop and I leave you here."

"Then do it." He forced his eyes to open, seeing her face in an instant of unguarded truth. She looked . . . she looked afraid. Scared shitless. Not a snaky look at all, but not a human one either. Just scared. Daniel sighed. "Well?"

Her expression went cold, hard. Only her eyes stayed a little too wide. She gestured towards the ruined body that had been a friend of his. "The smell of Tau'ri blood troubles me not at all. If you wish to stay, we can stay."

Daniel swallowed bile and shuddered, then picked up his pack. He spent a few minutes pawing through Frank's pack, finding things he might need. There wasn't much there. Frank's radio . . . well. If it was still intact it was lost in the wreck of his corpse. Daniel didn't see it. He blinked fast, trying not to think about what he was looking at when he scanned for the radio on the ground. Not there. Not that he saw. As lost as his own. Daniel sighed. Ziusura was waiting. He looked up and almost laughed, seeing that she, too, wore a pack. A Goa'uld carrying stuff on its own? Unheard of. But maybe it told him why she'd saved his life. Daniel sighed, too tired to want to think anymore. "I hope you can see in the dark."

"I am Goa'uld. I am your better in this as in so much."

"Fine. Better, stronger, faster." He sighed and put his pack down again. "You're so much better, you can give me a hand."

She scowled, then grabbed his arm. "You speak nonsense."

He yanked himself free and looked around, finding a large hunk of rubble he could pull free of its vines. The slash the bug had clawed into his leg stung, muscles aching as he turned. Frank's body was still visible in the dying light of a drizzly evening. He shut his eyes and gently set the stone down on top of it.

Ziusura growled and spat a curse. "I command you to stop. Pick up your pack."

Daniel looked at her a moment, then picked up another stone and carried it to the body. "My people bury our dead."

"Fool! Fool! You would see us dead of the things that took his life?" She was spluttering with rage and fear.

Daniel picked up something that resembled a chunk of asphalt and carried it past her. "Stop exaggerating. I think I like you people better when you're playing false gods."

"You are a madman." She had knotted her fingers in her bangs, then suddenly brought her hand down, palm threatening, only to ball her fist and stop. "I spare you but we leave now. The wasps threaten."

"Trying to scare me with bugs?" He shook his head, grimacing but perversely grateful for the distraction.

She suddenly grabbed his shoulder, yanked him around and pointed at Frank's body. "We will both look like that. You will have us gutted and wrecked on the ground."

He shook her off and turned very slowly to glare down into her eyes. "Don't touch me again. And shut up. If you see a bug, show it to me and I'll go. Until then, I'm burying my friend. Stay or go. I don't care."

Ziusura's eyes glowed for an instant then faded. Her stolen face was tight with rage and fear but she wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, muttering.

Daniel turned back to his chore, piling stones on the newly dead. All things considered, he truly preferred old tombs to new ones he thought, as he gently put another stone on top of his friend.  
_______________________________________________

=================================

Sam was tired of trying to fool herself that she was asleep. It wasn't working. She was more alert than ever. Sam would have sworn she could feel the second hand move on her watch. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. She could hear the dull crackle of the fire and breathing of the men and woman around her. And the faint rustle and clack of cloth and weapons as the Colonel moved again. Fidgeting. She shut her eyes tight, as if that would stop the sound.

Her feet hurt. And her hands. And her shoulders, too. But the feet . . . that was bothering her. After they'd lost contact with Daniel, the Colonel had set a forced march pace that had silenced them all, left them breathing hard and soaked with sweat in the warm, humid air. The smell of unwashed people and rotting plants was thick around them. It dulled her appetite, even as she forgot how clean skin and air should smell. Hours of hacking through undergrowth and chopping their way into every foot that they walked had left blisters on her hands, burned an ache into her shoulders and back that made her groan like a old woman. But she shouldn't have blisters on her feet, even with the reeking socks she'd worn for too many days. The military might make ugly clothes and it might make silly rules, but the one thing it had learned right was that armies lived on their feet. Military boots felt like heaven. Blisters were just not allowed.

But she had blisters. And so did every other poor bastard who'd followed the Colonel today. He moved again, rattle-rustle-clack. Sam blew out her breath in a sad little sigh and dug her nails into her palms. She didn't want to do this. She turned to face the fire and opened her eyes, seeing him in the flickering light. He was staring off into the dark, out through where a wall had shattered so long that maybe Egypt had not yet had pyramids beside the Nile. Daniel would know. She dug her nails a little harder into her palms and studied the lines that creased the Colonel's face. Grim, ugly furrows beside his mouth and between his brows but the skin around his eyes was smooth, no laughter there at all. His eyes were wide and hard as his hand came back up to his radio, fingered it then dropped away. She watched him shut his eyes and rub at them hard, digging his fingers in. He dragged his hands down his face and they left pale stripes where he'd wiped the grime away. Then he looked back out, staring into the dark.

She'd known she needed to do this - have the 2IC talk with him. Had prayed she could put it off, prayed she could stall long enough that he'd figure it out on his own but the blisters on her feet and the exhausted sprawl of the people around her told her the time had come. Couldn't stall it anymore. They needed the Colonel back.

He didn't move when she sat up. There was the quickest glitter of eyes, and she knew he'd seen, but he still faced the night. Sam got up slowly, making no noise, and picked her way past sleeping people to stand there looking down at him. She whispered when she spoke. "Sir."

"Do something for you, Major?" The words were light but the tone was cold and grim.

"Take a walk with me, Sir?" She nodded out towards the choked street, where water drops threw back the light of the fire in jeweled glints.

He got up, no louder or quieter than he'd been since he started his watch, and followed her out past crumbled walls, where the mist hung to muffle the world. She glanced back for an instant, towards the fire. Teal'c knelt beyond it, in Kel-no-reem's trance. For an instant he opened his eyes, nodded to her, then went still again. She swallowed, taking the notice for what it was worth - a quiet blessing and good luck. When she looked away the Colonel was watching her, just visible in the dull, gray night. Somewhere above them, past clouds and rain, hung two moons that would be shining, but down here the mist glowed and wrapped the world in gray. Wrapped her and Colonel in gray.

"You wanted something, Major?" His sardonic voice was barbed, no kindness in his tone.

Where to start? Start with the truth. "Sir, you're pushing them too hard."

"Bullshit." His voice was a flat declaration. "I'm getting their asses home."

"No. You're not." She got her courage in both hands. "Permission to speak freely, Sir."

"As if I could ever stop you." There was a grudging respect there, she heard. Wished she could really see his face.

"I'll take that as a yes." She crossed her arms over her chest, then stopped herself and let them fall to her sides. Saw his stance shift and knew that he could see her, more or less. "You're pushing them too hard. I understand why, Sir, but you've got to stop. They can't make it like this. And neither can we."

His gear rattled softly. She could hear him take a deep breath. "So. You want me to ease up like this is a walk in the park. We take a stroll to the gate and our new friends will just pick us off one by one."

She flinched at his tone. "You are wearing us out. All of us, not just them. They're not trained for this, but Sir, I'm worn out too and even Teal'c's feeling it. We can't go this fast. We'll make a mistake that we can't afford and it'll get us killed!"

"Major, do you know where you are? Take a look around! I expect better than head-in-the-clouds ivory-tower stupidity from you! We're going to get killed, and the only thing that'll save our asses is getting off this world!"

She wanted to shake him. Anger suddenly twisted in her gut. "We're exhausted and we're going to make a mistake! You know damn well what I'm talking about, Sir. This pace is hitting you and me and Teal'c! If it's hurting us, it's going to be killing them! What do we do when they drop? Carry them out?"

"What do you do next time a bug attacks? Ask him politely to wait while we take a nap?" She could see the Colonel now. He was right up in her face.

"Sir, with all due respect, you aren't doing this because of the bugs. You're doing this to them because we had to divert. You can't punish them because Daniel's not here." She came to a roaring stop, suddenly hearing her own words. She blinked and said them again, testing the truth of each one. "You can't punish them because we weren't there with him. It's not their fault and it isn't right."

He was very still. She could see him faintly in the murk, he was so close, but she couldn't hear him now. She reached out and slowly, carefully, wrapped her hand around his arm, gave him a tiny, gentle shake. "They're scared, Sir. So'm I. And worried. I'm sick I'm so worried. And sorry. Sorrier than I can say."

She could actually hear him swallow, it was that quiet where they stood. He shifted but didn't pull his arm away. "Carter, you've got nothing to be sorry for." His words were finally gentle, warmed with humor and grief and fear.

"I should have found a way. I've been thinking and thinking and trying to figure a way . . ." She swallowed hard and shut her eyes tight, glad he couldn't see her in the dark. But a sniffle gave her away for an instant before she could make herself stop. "Sir, I'm sorry. I blew up at Elaine before and I didn't figure it out. I'm sorry but I can't let you stay angry like that. I understand. I want to scream at them too. But we need you, Sir. We need you to BE you, or we won't get out of here."

She heard him sigh, felt his hand settle on her shoulder, right where it met her neck. He gave her a little shake, kneaded tense muscles. "Was that the 2IC talk?"

The sniffle this time caught her unprepared. "Yeah."

"Didn't do half bad at it, Carter. Not half bad at all."

A small giggle hit her along with the sniffle. She tried to muffle them but they snuck out. "I never had to do one before."

"Couldn't tell by me. It sounds like you practiced. What did you do, get Ferretti to coach you on how it's done?"

The giggle got harder to subdue. "Sort of. I think he mentioned a support group for this kind of thing. And a web site."

The Colonel snickered. "Figures. Only you would do research on how to chew somebody out."

She sobered suddenly. "I meant it, Sir. I'm sorry, I haven't been doing my job, and I'll do better. But you - your job is our life or death."

"You've been doing your job." His voice was calm now, the one she knew. His hand still kneaded the back of her neck. "I know, I know, you chewed out Sparky -"

"Sparky?" She rolled the name off her tongue, bemused.

"Sure. Stromburg looks like a spark plug. Kinda like that Farscape slug guy. Sparky. It fits." He sounded more and more like the man she knew.

"Oh my God. I think you're right! Sparky." She giggled again and didn't try to stop it this time. "I didn't think you watched Sci Fi, Sir."

"Gotta keep my air of mystery somehow," he intoned. "You've been doing your job just fine. You've been doing the job I needed you to do, Major. I don't need a robot. I do need someone who knows their stuff and who's human. If there's an apology due, it's from me to you. And Sparky."

She grinned at the distaste in his tone. "She's not so bad."

"Scientists," he grumbled. When he spoke again his voice was sober, calm. "You can't give me answers that aren't there, Sam. You've been doing what you needed to do, getting us through and keeping things running smoothly. That's your job. That and kicking my ass."

Sam blinked fast, eased her head back as his hand dropped away from her neck. "I'm worried about him, Sir. I'm worried too."

"Yeah." He stopped, cleared his throat. When he went on his voice was a little hoarse. "Teal'c thinks he's okay. Actually said this is a good thing."

"What?" This time she didn't stop herself from wrapping her arms across her ribs, holding her elbows tight. "He was attacked. And there's a Goa'uld."

"Yeah. That's what I said. But T figures the snake's got a ribbon and that gives Daniel a tactical edge."

"The snake's the one with the gun." She rapped the words out fast, hard.

The Colonel's hand settled onto her shoulder again. "I never thought I'd say this but for once, a snake may be good news."

"Sir?" She almost checked him for fever. "Did you get hurt earlier today? Are you feeling all right?"

"Smartass." His hand moved back and forth over her back, that odd little comforting thing he usually did to Daniel. Rarely to her. Rare that she needed him to. "I was wondering what good Daniel'd be to a snake. Most of them just want him dead."

It hadn't even occurred to Sam. She'd been so tired, she just didn't stop to think. Now she ran the thought and then looked at it again. "It took Dr. Peng about, what, probably four days ago?"

"Something like that. Carter, did you ever smoke?"

The familiar use of her last name was a relief, a sudden bit of normality coming back. "No. My cousin did. Why?"

"Even after you kick the habit, sometimes you just crave one. The way the smoke tastes, how the cigarette feels between your fingers." His voice was almost dreamy. "I guess your cousin's smoking put you off?"

"She always stank." Sam yawned. "Peng's the entomologist, isn't she?"

"Bug lady, yeah. Her team was dead before the rest but she was still sending those calls, saying everything was peachy." He had let go of her shoulder again, slouching next to her. A breeze stirred the leaves in the dark. "Suspicion's a habit, Carter. Hard to kick. We were here. Then a snake was here. And then the bugs showed up too. So now what have we got? Snakehead's with Daniel and I make that for a hostage situation. He gets her past the jarheads at the gate. And maybe helps cover her ass before then, though you gotta figure if she was able to survive four days without help then she's one tough snake."

Sam stared out into the mist, trying to picture it. "You're right. The timing stinks. All those centuries this place was here and suddenly there's us and a Goa'uld all at once. Though it seems farfetched that a Goa'uld came because we were here. Or that Daniel was singled out."

"I never said he was. He's probably just working that mojo of his, wrong place, wrong time, that shit. Damn, but he could find Goa'uld in the frozen foods at the market."

She smiled, just a bit. "Sometimes it does seem like that. So something's fishy. What do we get from that?"

"Not much." She heard him yawn. "Maybe a mother-ship on our heads though I don't think so. I think the-snake crashed her big ship. But if there's something here the snakes want, then we want it too. I know they said they sent all the eggheads here to find out what crashed that old heap of a ship, but maybe they're running a test. See if what got it's still here."

Sam shivered at that. Blinked hard and thought. "Let me see if I've got this straight, Sir . . . We know something here stopped the Goa'uld a long time ago and crashed a mothership. Sure, that's easy. That's why all the teams were sent, like you said. But you think they set us up, leaked that to another Goa'uld and waited to see what would happen?"

"It sounds like the X-Files when you put it that way. But do I believe that snakey's here because she just had this urge? I'll take X-Files over coincidence on that one. "

Jesus. H. Christ. Sam turned the thought over and over in her mind. Considered implications and didn't trust her own ability to conceive what they might include. "That's going to complicate things. I mean, for Daniel."

He snorted laughter without humor. "As if they're not complicated enough. But yeah, it will. If we let it."

"What do you mean?" She thought she already knew but the quiet, shared moment was over. This was where the command structure fell back into place, where they weren't talking might be's and may be's but will-be-and-you-do.

"I'll let up as much as I can, but we need speed. We need to get to that damn gate before Daniel and his snake. And yeah, for the record, I think Teal'c's right. Danny's got a better chance of getting to the gate alive with the snake than he had with Rossiter, fucked as that is. But getting through the gate in one piece? That's something else altogether."

"You think . . ." She followed the thought to its conclusion. "This doesn't make sense. Somebody leaked to the Goa'uld and we've got a Goa'uld here, but they were planning on a hostage situation to get through the gate? Somebody betrayed Earth to the Goa'uld and planned for a disaster Sir? Or is this a double cross or . . . this isn't making sense!"

"I don't think it was that thought out, Carter. You're right about it not making sense - I don't think anyone tried to get the line of planning that far. They just threw all the stuff they could in the pot to see what floated to the top. But I also think that Danny's alive until that snake gets to the gate, and then he's in God's hands. He'll end up in a crossfire with the snake trying to buy her way through the door or whatever, and with the Jarheads and us on the other side . . . If they've got to choose between the snake getting away or shooting them both, then I figure Danny's collateral damage. And I don't plan to let that happen."

Sam straightened up and dropped her hands to her hips, idly scraping the ground under her foot with her heel. "You're going to split off early? That sucks."

"Nah. Teal'c's right about that. Even if I thought I could find him on my own, if I go off alone then I'm dead meat and no good to Daniel at all. But if I go through the gate you know Hammond won't let me just turn around. I'm taking you to the gate. Then it's your job to take Sparky through. I'll do the 180 and go get our boy."

"Risky plan, Sir. These things attacked the permanent camps. They seem to go after concentrations of people and the Marines have been on the gate for days, long enough for them to have the position blockaded."

"Uh huh. That's the other reason I'm with you until the gate. You'll need me." His hand came out of the foggy dark again, this time resting lightly on her shoulder. "Then I'm taking every grenade we've got left and I'm going to exterminate me some bugs."

Sam sucked in a breath, puffed her cheeks then blew it back out. "Okay, Sir. Okay." She had heard the determination in his voice, and frankly, thought he was right about Daniel's chances. She'd back that play. But letting him go alone? Nope. Not a hope in the whole of this green hell.


	10. Tarantella 10

"That is enough. Now stop! Stop immediately!"

Daniel paused and glared at Ziusura. "Go to hell." He set another rock down on Frank's body.

"Your behavior is irrational and irresponsible." The snakehead was pacing, aggravated. Daniel ignored her. "I will punish you if you persist."

He set another rock down on . . . on the body. He tried not to look at it. The dull sound of rock on flesh made him feel vaguely queasy. "If you were going to punish me you'd have done it already, therefore that's a bullshit empty threat."

"This is a waste of valuable energy. The human is dead. Leave him and attend our needs."

The attempt to sound commanding, to invoke the double tones of the Goa'uld, fell flat. Daniel shot a glare at her and kept piling rubble on the body. Frank's body. His hands felt sticky and grimy, still stained. The one time he'd make the mistake of shoving his glasses back up his nose the stink of blood had gagged him. Now he used the earpiece and wished desperately for water, longing for a long, hot shower to wash sweat and blood and the stink of this place away. And nursed a fleeting fear that all the water in the world wouldn't be enough.

Ziusura huffed and spat a curse in florid Goa'uld. Daniel ignored her, reaching for another stone. She stomped in a circle around him, mumbling curses. She looked ridiculous, almost enough to make him laugh, a small, skinny Asian woman with twigs in her dirty hair and smudges on her face and clothes. But she wasn't. Sometimes her eyes glowed, sometimes her voice ran double. And those times he had no urge to laugh.

Another big piece of broken building and he finally could look at Frank without seeing the torn ruin of his chest. Blood streaked his face, pooled visibly in the back of his slackly open mouth. His eyes were half open, dull beneath the lids. Daniel winced at the sight, then reached out to gently push the lids closed. He reached around behind Frank's neck to find the chain of his dogtags, trying hard not to touch the rubbery, cooling flesh. Metal jingled as he pulled the tags free, drew the chain over the airman's head.

"Are you done yet?" The impatient tone made Daniel glare, growl.

"I'm going to finish burying him. You can wait or you can leave. Just shut up."

"What is the point of this ritual?" Ziusura waved, taking in Frank's body, the clearing. "It does not avert harm. It will not distract others. You are wasting time."

"I'm paying respect! Something the Goa'uld never understood! Pick your host's brains if you want to understand."

Ziusura snorted. "My host is a cowering savage, as are all of your kind. Just leave him."

Daniel glowered, spun to grab another rock and heard the whine of a ribbon device behind him. "What the -"

He spun to find the Goa'uld playing technological fire over Frank's body, incinerating it. Daniel howled in rage and took a step forward but it was too late. The body was gone, a scorched patch left where it had been. "You bitch!"

Ziusura sneered. "So eloquent."

He spluttered, threw his arms wide to take in the whole clearing. "Why? Why do this?"

"Why disintegrate his remains? Because you are clearly unable to make a sound decision regarding survival. You should thank me."

Daniel blinked, outraged. He wanted to curse, wanted to hit her. He balled his fists tight and held very still, counting his own breaths, then dropped on his haunches by the burnt patch. "You did this to get your own way. There was no need to do this."

"Yet I did this for you. You are fortunate indeed." Ziusura lifted his pack and tossed it to him. "I shall enjoy your voice raised in praise of the blessing that led me to your side in your hour of need. Now, we shall go."

It was too much. Too . . . he had twenty-three languages at his command but sometimes the old Anglo-Saxon terms were just the only thing that worked. "Fuck. Fuck you. And the horse you fucked to get here. Fuck, fuck your fuckety fucking FUCK!"

Ziusura blinked, listening to him explore the application of the term to various parts of speech. And shook her head. "Your mind is distressed. Unlike many, I am a merciful master and do not simply destroy the defective. Now. Carry your pack and lead the way."

He stood there, hands held out to his sides, fists opening and closing in utter frustration as he tried to think of something to say that might actually relate to what he was feeling. And finally dropped his hands to his sides with a grunt of exasperation. And picked up his machete. Couldn't cut the snake, not without getting ribboned for his pains, but he could slash the hell out of the stuff that trapped him with this lunatic parasite and her host. Spinning, he slashed out and began hacking his way into the jungle.

The machete handle felt awful in his hand. As he sweated, the odor and sticky feeling of blood strengthened, and there was no way to wash it off. No way to get clean. The Goa'uld followed him closely, grumbling at his slow pace, at the smell, at the savagery of this place. The words slowly infiltrated, making him wonder. He frowned, slashing out again. Questions simmered throughout the day, with no time or breath to ask them.

It was Ziusura who called the halt. "Here. You will make camp for us here."

Daniel glared, nettled. "I just broke trail for you. And carried the heavier pack even though, and I'll admit it openly, you're stronger than I am. So what the hell makes it my job to make camp?"

Ziusura sneered down her nose, as much as was possible for a woman who was easily six inches shorter than he. "I am a god."

"Your name is forgotten on Earth!"

"It is not!" She was suddenly right there, hands wrapped around his neck pulling him down face to face with her. "You LIE! You knew our name when first we spoke it."

"I am a scholar of ancient history and you are just that." Daniel relished the frustrated anger on her face. "I only know you from ancient, forgotten, MOLDY records that no one but scholars would study! You aren't a god. You're not even a viable legend. You're just a . . . a . . . FOOTNOTE!"

"YOU LIE" Ziusura flung him back, sending him stumbling until he tripped over vines and sat down hard enough to make his teeth click together. She was pacing, flouncing really, back and forth. "Our beneficence will only protect you so far, Tau'ri! Have a care how you cast your words."

"I don't lie." Daniel cheerfully needled her again. "If you were such a hot system lord you wouldn't be here. You'd have sent some flunky to do your dirty work! Hell, why even COME here to start with?"

The Goa'uld had stopped, stiffening, then turned to glare at him. The tight anger barely concealed fear. "A worshipper does not question a god."

"Been through that." Daniel shrugged and turned away. He was tired, hungry, filthy and he'd had enough. The Goa'uld was useless. For an instant he took that back, considered just how and when the Goa'uld was useful but it was something he was not going to think about. Couldn't think about right now. There was dry tinder inside some of hollowed buildings, stuff worn into unrecognizable junk but it felt like it would burn.

Ziusura was watching him, arms crossed, as he gathered the makings of a fire and dragged his pack into the meager shelter of one structure. Not much but it'd keep the drizzle off. The shadows at the back made him nervous but only distant, dripping water broke the silence. He crouched to build up a fire, briefly looking up again to see the speculative, cold stare of someone who wasn't human anymore following him. "At least bring your own pack. I'm not your slave."

She snorted. "Deluded mortal. You should thank us for extending our hand over you."

"Are we back to that again?" Daniel frowned, getting the tinder started. "I don't believe your 'good tooth fairy' act and I don't think you saved me out of the goodness of your heart."

"You would we had left you?" Ziusura got a dreamy, thoughtful look. "We could walk away and leave you to fend for yourself, fallen and alone in this place."

"Bullshit. Bull. Shit." Daniel pulled an MRE from his pack. Ziusura leaned over and snatched it from his hand. He shut his eyes a moment, counted to ten in about five different languages and pulled out another. "That whole 'I'm just here to rescue you' line is junk. If it were halfway real, which it's not, you wouldn't be playing blackmail games with threats to leave me. Not that I'd believe you even if you stopped trying to yank me around, snake."

She wasn't listening to him. Her face was pulled like a dog eating a pickle as she tried a couple bites of the military's notion of cuisine. "Pfah! This is foul!"

Daniel paused, biting his tongue on the momentary urge to agree with her, then forced himself to eat his meal without complaint. At least it was entertaining to watch her try to choke down a few more bites. She finally threw the pouch at him. "This is not fit for the hounds! Do not insult us with such fare."

He paused, chewing thoughtfully. "No problem."

She watched him as he continued to eat. "Well?"

"Well what?" He looked innocently at her.

"Why do you just sit there? Prepare food for us! Real food!"

Daniel licked something sticky that didn't resemble its label off his spoon. "Tell me how."

The two of them sat there staring at each other. Daniel could see Ziusura's jaw working with aggravation. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud, then asked himself who he was afraid of offending and went ahead and laughed. The Goa'uld brought up her hand and the gem in her palm glowed, whined menacingly then faded as her fists clenched. "Stop it. Stop it now."

"Why? What will you do to me?" Daniel baited her. "Blow me up? Ribbon me? You'd have done it already if you could. You're not going to kill me because you need me!"

The look on her face was of utter fury. He met her eyes and matched her hate for hate hissing, "Go on. You want to kill me? You've been following me and . . . and Frank for days. You won't touch me."

She snarled and lunged, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him close, forcing her lips over his. Daniel almost gagged, grabbed her shoulders and fought to push her away but Goa'uld strength held him in place as her tongue forced between his teeth. He squirmed and bit and she pulled back and slapped him.

He rocked back, sprawling from the blow, ears ringing. She pounced again. "Feeble creature. I could take you now. You'd make a fine host."

Her fingers were digging into his chin, yanking his face around towards hers. He grabbed her wrist like Jack had shown him and twisted, digging his thumb in hard until she let go. "Hands off, bitch!"

Ziusura's laughter was eerie, echoing from the abandoned halls of the hulk in which they sheltered. "You know me yet know so little. Host."

She was moving in again when he wrenched himself free. "Let go. Slap me around too much and I won't be able to walk straight tomorrow."

"You'll walk like a god." Her voice still rang with the Goa'uld's echo but she had paused. "Shall I take you tonight or wait?"

"Just stop." He sagged, resting his arms across his legs, mouth sour with disgust. "Keep the threats and keep your hands to yourself. You won't take me. If you could have done it you'd have done it before now. So you need me. Stop the threats and just spit it out."

"To you? To a savage who does not even know us for what we are? You think me a queen?" Her voice - no, he corrected himself. Male parasite possessing a female host. HIS voice was arch. "I am a GOD."

The bruises he'd left ached. Daniel rubbed gently at his cheek where Ziusura had slapped him. "Huh. Right. You were a Noah figure - only man to survive the great flood, saved by the gods."

"We saved ourself," snarled Ziusura. "Our pitiful host was -"

"I've heard it before." Daniel cut him off, remembering more now. Noah precursor. There wasn't that much more, but Ziusura certainly had been a lesser figure even in his heyday, let alone . . . He thought about that. Almost grinned. "So what is a Goa'uld doing on a planet full of creatures who kill Goa'uld?"

"We sought the secret." She - he - (Daniel rubbed at the growing headache behind his temples) Ziusura said.

He hadn't actually thought he'd get an answer. "Whhyyy?"

The sour look that met his question left him with a strange, contradictory urge to laugh in the Goa'uld's face and feel sorry for it all at once. Then he remembered exactly why a Goa'uld might want a super-weapon. "Social climber."

Ziusura snorted inelegantly. "You are simple minded. What would you know about the reasons of one such as I?"

"I'd know that you're small change on the Goa'uld power scene and that you were looking for an edge." Daniel settled back by the fire, wondering what the Goa'uld thought he could do for it. "And I know the Tok'ra and Tollan had never heard of this place. Which means your own people probably never heard of it either."

"It is a minor world, meaningless in the grand scheme of things," dismissed the snake.

"So why bother coming? And why now?" And who told you about it, he thought to himself. "You didn't know what was here, did you?"

"Cease your impertinent prattle," snarled Ziusura.

"We've done this already," sighed Daniel. "You're not going to kill me and you won't even slap me around anymore unless you want to spend an extra day here. But judging from what I know, you want that even less than I do. So talk."

"I will flay you alive then revive you intact to do it all over again." Spittle was flying from Natalie Peng's thin lips as the creature inside her swore. "I'll take your body for amusement and then have you for my host. You'll live a thousand years in agony and I will laugh at your pain, little man."

Daniel watched the human face of the entomologist contort under the symbiote's control and answered, "Uh huh. Are you done yet?"

"I hate you!"

He looked away for an instant, then back to face Ziusura. "Well, that's one emotion we share. Along with a fear of being killed by the bugs. Are you ready to talk yet?"

Ziusura was breathing fast, his host's thin chest rising and falling with the quick, panting breaths of anger. "This place is forgotten by the gods."

All right. One piece of information finally gained. Daniel wasn't surprised, and it wasn't much more than he'd expected, but he filed it away nonetheless. "You may have been fortunate in your choice of host, much as I hate to admit it. What had Natalie figured out?"

"Our host is a beast of burden." Ziusura waved one hand dismissively.

"Your host is a highly educated, very intelligent specialist whose knowledge might save our lives," responded Daniel mildly. "Unlike you, who are a parasite, a pain in the ass and, if I'm right, a member of the species that caused all this." He waved around him, taking in the spoiled room, the wrecked city, everything.

Ziusura's eyes narrowed in an ugly scowl. "Her slanderous beliefs are useless, baseless tripe."

Daniel stirred the fire, gazing at the flying sparks and ran his tongue over his teeth, remembering how ribbon beams felt. "Or perhaps you're simply not integrated enough to know what she knows. That it, Ziusura? Is she too strong for you?"

The Goa'uld rose to the bait admirably, nettling and growling, "They are not natural creatures. They were bred as weapons."

"Figured that out already." Daniel gave him a bright, shiny smile. "They were bred to attack you, weren't they? To attack Goa'uld."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

The sudden, syrupy concern in that double voice almost made him laugh. "You know where I was, what I was studying. So what happened? You and your Jaffa came down hard? There's only one gate on this world and you didn't come through it. What happened to your ship?"

Natalie's normally-brown eyes glowed at him. Daniel swallowed reflexively, tasting acid at the back of his throat. "You presume too much."

"It crashed."

"You offend your betters."

"You ran."

"Silence!"

"And you need me to get to you to the gate." Daniel smiled sweetly back into the infuriated face of the Goa'uld. "You can go to hell."

Ziusura visibly got control of . . . itself. Yes, that would be easier than trying to keep the thing's gender in mind. It squeezed its eyes shut and took a breath. Opened them. "We saved your life."

Daniel considered that, rubbing at the cut the bug had put across his shin. "That's true. You did."

"We offer you our protection." It was said quietly, simply, and Daniel couldn't find any duplicity in Ziusura's face as he searched it.

"And what do you ask in return?"

Shame and anger and resignation chased each other across the Goa'uld's face. Then it went stoic, sitting up straight. "We ask that you fight equally beside us so that both may leave, and that you take us to the Chappa'ai."

"Just take you to the Stargate?" he questioned suspiciously.

"You would not accompany us even were we to ask." Ziusura idly picked its MRE back up, poking at the contents of the pouch. "We offer mutual aid for mutual survival."

"And I should believe you . . . why?"

Glowing eyes met his. "Because without your aid we will most likely perish. And without ours so too would you. The infestation which you call bugs grows. They are swarming."

"Is that what Natalie thought?"

"It is. She studied the little wasps here, wasps that the people of this place burned as totems." The fight seemed to go out of Ziusura as the words flowed. "Our host has watched with us as we were pursued and fought, and as you too have fought these things. She thinks they were created by artifice. That like the wasp, they swarm in season, and are dormant in season in kind, and they seek hosts for their larvae when they swarm."

Daniel swallowed hard, trying to focus on the words. He'd let the work carry him through the day. Fighting with Ziusura had kept him occupied, kept the memories at bay, but the reminder brought the memory of blood, its smell and slippery feel on his hands as something moved in a dead man's chest. He grabbed desperately for something to distract himself again. "Natalie's team anthropologist said the tribes were coming together, that the swarming time had passed."

"Perhaps," Ziusura grudgingly admitted. "Perhaps, as my host believed, other stimuli might come into play."

"Other . . ." Daniel narrowed his eyes, staring at Ziusura. Who fidgeted. He shut his eyes, not needing to ask what stimuli might bring swarms of a creature biologically engineered to attack Goa'uld. He rubbed his hands together against a sudden chill then stopped at the gritty residue on his palms. His clothes felt stiff when he rubbed his hands on them. "I'll take first watch."

Ziusura sneered. "A waste of strength. The creatures hunt by day like wasps. It is night. But if you would waste your sleep, then do."

Daniel smiled, showing his teeth. "Do you have proof they only hunt by day? Because the things that hit Jack's camp sounded like they attacked as the sun went down."

Ziusura glared, opened its mouth, huffed. "The wasps do not fly by night."

"But the wasps don't give a damn about Goa'uld, either. These things do." He smiled wider, twisting the knife. "Maybe they'll stay up late just to come and get you."

The Goa'uld squirmed where it sat, then threw itself back to lie on the ground. "You will take first watch, Tau'ri."

"Uh huh." Daniel poked the fire. "And I'll wake you in four hours."

"What?" The Goa'uld sat up, offended.

Daniel, strangely, felt almost grateful to have that to focus on. He growled, "Four hours, Ziusura. Then you get to look for the long leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night."

Ziusura opened its mouth to argue, then harrumphed and rolled over, arms wrapped around Natalie Peng's thin ribs. Daniel watched for a moment, then looked out into the dark, watching for motion through the rain and praying that four hours would be enough to let him sleep the sleep of the dead, free of dreams of the dying.

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O’Neill was on auto-pilot, chopping through vines and scanning the buildings. Sweat trickled hot and sticky between his shoulder-blades and he could smell Teal'c. Hell, he could damn near smell everyone in their party, now that the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. Bright, hot, sunny day, just the ticket for hacking through steaming jungle. He was going to have one hell of a farmer's tan.

If he lived long enough. Cross street and sure enough, there was motion down that way. He didn't have to look the other way to know that they were flanked on both sides, bugs paralleling them one street over each way. Teal'c confirmed it even so, keeping his voice low and calm. No point panicking the herd. "O'Neill. I count four."

O'Neill paused, breathing hard. "Take five, Teal'c. I have six down this way."

The two men looked up and down the cross streets, barely picking their escort out through the tangle of vines. Teal'c fingered his staff in a motion that, in anyone else, would look nervous. In him it just looked - prepared. "They are driving us."

The Colonel snorted in answer. "Ya think? So. Tiger traps? Mine fields?"

"I do not believe these creatures use such technology, O'Neill." Teal'c said it mildly and, for the life of him, Jack O'Neill couldn't tell if his leg was being pulled or not.

"Like to know what's here that they want us to reach." He sighed and hefted his machete, looking back towards his bedraggled charges. "I guess we'll find out soon enough. Man, I'm sick of this. I am never mowing my law again."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow, glancing towards him. "O'Neill, you do not mow your lawn now. Do you not pay that child on your street?"

"It's the principle of the thing. I'm starting to think Astroturf might be the way to go." He took a gulp of water and hacked into the fresh bramble patch that had sprung up in what had been cleared ground two weeks ago.

"Sir." Carter tapped him on the shoulder and pointed up. "UAV."

"Took 'em long enough." Jack O'Neill let his right arm drop to his side, machete hanging loose in his arm. "Good spotting, Major. Let me shake your hand!"

She grinned, nose crinkling. "With the way you smell? No offense intended, Sir, but please stay far away from me."

He covered his grin with a scowl and grabbed for the radio squawking on his shoulder. "This is SG-oh-one. This is SG-oh-one. Good to hear you, SG-oh-six." It was surprising, how good it was to hear tinny voices from the speaker. After a day with no contact with anyone, it had felt damn lonely out here.

"SG-oh-one, what is your position?"

He glanced around, squinting in the reflection of the sun off a shiny building façade. A gap in the skyline let him see their landmark, the towers that backed the gate. "I make us roughly half a day from the gate, Skee. How do things look there?"

The answer came back fast. "Little tense, SG-oh-one. Be advised, there are hostiles in the area. Hostiles resemble the bug that got Norton."

Huh. No surprise there. It took him a second to remember the researcher who they'd seen die on tape. He shut his eyes a moment, counting the days back, getting a sense for how long they'd actually been here instead of how long it felt like they'd been here. "We have engaged hostiles. Avoid direct contact if at all possible. Avoid contact with bodily fluids."

"Figured that out, Jack." The response was dry and sharp, and it brought a grin to O'Neill's lips. That had to have been one hell of a fight if 'Skee was breaking form on an open line. "Be advised, hostiles have laid eggs in area."

Laid eggs. He frowned. "How many?"

"Lots." Even over the lousy speakers he could hear how unhappy the Marine was. "Approaches to the north and east are impassible. Approaches to the west are hazardous with limited routes past the eggs. And they're heavily patrolled."

Huh again. He looked up to see Carter and Teal'c hanging on every word. Still watching the street around them, oh yeah, but the two of them had come in close and kept glancing his way. "We've had increased activity here as well."

There was a flicker of movement in the shadows of a building, up where a second floor's windows gaped empty. Teal'c was targeting it even as O'Neill raised his hand to point, and Carter was getting her charges back away from the path of any falling debris. O'Neill moved up closer to Teal'c. "Hostiles have been pacing us on both flanks. We are on main thoroughfare from your west."

There was a long crackle of static and that movement happened again, shadows sliding through shadows. Teal'c's staff opened, charged. Skee's voice finally came back. "Sounds like they're driving you into a pocket. UAV shows eggs fields on the main thoroughfare approximately two miles to your east. Strongly advise you change approach."

Like he couldn't figure that out on his own. Damn Jarhead owed him an extra drink for that one. "Copy that. Can you identify a clear access?"

The sudden thunder of an MP-5 drowned out the response and sent O'Neill's heart leaping into his throat so fast he thought it had probably bounced off his sinuses and rebounded back to his chest. He spun, seeing Teal'c's staff weapon fire but not hearing it over the noise as Carter put another half-clip into the building on the other side. A clawed hand draped over a facade, streaks melting dark and smoking where acid must have splashed. Carter was moving towards the back of the group, scanning for more and held up a hand. Five fingers, then two, seven of the bastards behind them and no guarantee there weren't more flanking them now.

He dropped the radio and turned, taking right flank, trusting Teal'c and Carter to handle left and rear. A quick glance behind him saw Sparky and her two remaining geeks getting Corbier up, ready to go.

Something to his right, towards their rear, caught his eye and he'd brought his weapon around, identifying the shiny gray carapaces even as he turned. Two of them, slithering out of a window, clinging to the walls three floors up and coiled. He'd have sworn they were ready to jump. The weapon in his hands bucked as he opened fire, aiming low, aiming for the feet. The lower one squealed and lost its foothold, swinging by one hand. Bright drops of fluid caught sunlight as they scattered out and he heard a man's voice scream once, then a steady stream of curses started up. Couldn't look, couldn't spare the attention now.

Behind him Teal'c's staff fired again and again. The sound of Carter's and his MP-5's was slamming back and forth between the buildings. He could almost feel the noise on his skin, too big to really hear anymore. Carter waved and he half turned towards his left, clearing their path now. The one guy, Dave, had moved up to grab the machete O'Neill had dropped and he was hacking at the greenery. Hacking fast and panicky but that was okay. He was getting the job done. If they got clear O'Neill'd show him how it was done but right now, the guy was just where they needed him to be.

Moving forward now, placing his feet carefully so he wouldn't fall over anything in his way. Watching the walls and the trees, grenade in one hand and MP-5 in the other. "You guys okay?"

"I am well, O'Neill."

"Got our six, Sir."

"Come on, Alan, just keep your keister going." That last brought a small grin to O'Neill's face. He was going to assume that meant Sparky was okay. Dave he could see, swinging the machete like a baseball bat. "Dave."

The guy was muttering. Through the ringing in his ears O'Neill could just about make out curses and promises to God to go to church and eat his vegetables and a whole load of shit that O'Neill didn't give a damn about and doubted God would either. "Dave, keep your shoulders loose. You'll wear out like that."

"Like what? I'm getting it done, okay?" The sharp words would have been more convincing if the guy hadn't been breathing hard already.

"And I need you to keep getting that done, big guy. You're doing great. But this is a marathon, not a sprint, got it?"

" . . . fuckin' sprint . . ." was all he made out of the reply but he got the idea.

This was why God made sergeants. O'Neill got in touch with his inner sergeant and rapped out, "You're not playing softball with the girls now shithead. Swing it loose from the shoulders or I'll kick your ass so hard your momma's butt'll be black and blue!"

He winced, hearing himself. Not his best effort. He'd had to tailor it for a sensitive audience but it seemed to hit the tech where he lived. The guy paused and stared at him gape-mouthed, then started to giggle. O'Neill could have done without the giggling but at least Dave was swinging the machete the right way now, slicing long, even swaths into the junk instead of hacking at it. He'd take what he could get.

The nasties were behaving too. It was making him nervous. His radio beeped and he opened the channel. "Sorry, Skee. Having a little trouble."

"Roger that." The marine sounded worried. "How's it looking?"

"They don't like the radio, SG-oh-six. Find me a path and call it in or stay off the line."

"Roger. Out."

Huh. Just like that. He wondered how things had been at the gate and decided that he didn't envy SG6 at all.

It seemed very quiet now, with only the sound of blade on vine and people walking, breathing hard. He hated that, not being able to hear the other guy. Or thing as the case might be. Black on black moved in the depths of the buildings to either side but nothing came close to the windows again.

Carter's voice was soft. "They're herding us again."

"Guess they don't like rest breaks," O'Neill murmured. He could see Teal'c when he glanced around, see all of them clustered closer to compensate for only having one pathbreaker instead of two. "Don't want us to miss the party."

"Is it getting thinner up ahead?" Stromburg was pointing. O'Neill looked away from his side of the street for a moment, and nodded.

"Stromburg, I want you and your guys to stick close to Carter. Dave, take a break." The tech didn't need to be told twice. He stopped and sagged, panting. "Are . . . are they gonna . . . attack again?"

"I do not think so." Teal'c sounded utterly calm, sure of himself. It helped. O'Neill could see his unhappy campers ground themselves, hold onto that calm.

And he agreed, though he wasn't at all sure it was a good thing. All the way the bugs had been at their backs, at their flanks, driving them but not closing the trap. There'd been enough, they could have just overwhelmed them, but this was where they were supposed to go. He didn't think they'd see their buggy pals unless they tried to back out. He moved back by Carter, leaving Teal'c to keep the front secure. "See anything, Major?"

"They're there -" She pointed towards the upper floors, two or three stories up half a block back. "But nothing any closer."

"Guess we're going to the right party."

Her lips twitched in a brief smile. "Hope I wore the right thing."

"The MP-5 is always in style, Major. I'm going to take a look."

A worried frown settled on her face. "Alone?"

"We're here. I think they're willing to wait for us now." He gestured to empty windows where nothing moved. "Nothing on the walls. They're staying snug in their holes for now. Carter, Teal'c -" He gestured towards Stromburg, standing there with sweat sticking her neatly permed hair to her forehead, surrounded by her little gaggle of geeks. His 2IC nodded and Teal'c just turned to cover both O'Neill's side and his own.

It wasn't more than twenty feet and then he could see clear space up ahead. See a funny, white gleam too and he had a sneaky feeling he knew what it was. The greenery was thinner here, like it was kept pruned, thinned. Easier to get through. O'Neill got through it and saw why. "Oh, fuck."

Eggs. Hundreds of them, sitting there basking in the sun in the shelter of high buildings. On the far side of the field he saw what looked a hell of a lot like a crowd of bugs. Ugly motherfuckers. Movement caught his eye to the sides, too, where something lurked in the shadows inside the skyscrapers. First floor, everybody out and he didn't have to wonder what was loitering. No sound of weapons fire behind him, either. The bugs were leaving them alone, now that they'd arrived. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the slightly pebbly surfaces, almost glowing white against gray and brown and green. Great. Just great.

He backed away, watching the things, looking around fast every couple of seconds and feeling like a cat at the dog pound. Twenty feet. Twenty feet of thin weeds, saplings, and no brambles at all. He didn't turn his back on those eggs once, backing up finally until he was back with his crew. "We've got a problem."

Four blank stares met his words, four people who'd seen too much, and two wary, skeptical looks that immediately moved back out to keep watch. Stromburg swallowed hard and asked, "What is it?"

"Eggs." O'Neill didn't need to say anything more. Understanding flashed over their faces and an instant later, horror.

"Oh god, oh crap," whispered the tech whose name O'Neill had never learned. He rubbed his hands hard over his face and silent tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Are they . . ." Stromburg was ashy-pale but fighting to keep her voice level. Give Sparky credit, she sounded calm when she started again. "Did you see a way around them?"

"Elaine, don't be stupid." Loud mouthed Dave, saying what O'Neill was thinking but didn't need to have said out loud. He reached over and cuffed the guy lightly.

"It's a good question. Wish I had a good answer."

Dave turned wide, angry eyes on him. "So come up with one! That's your job, isn't it?"

O'Neill opened his mouth, then closed it. Could have ripped the twerp a new one but he knew how Dave felt, would have felt the same way in his shoes. He rubbed at the back of his neck and nodded. "I've got an answer. Just not a good one."

"Shoot us. Shoot us." The one guy was just falling apart and Stromburg's shushing and Dave's anger weren't helping. He was pulling his hands down his face, stretching the skin under his eyes, babbling, "Please, kill me clean. I don't want to die like that. I don't want to -"

Carter was stepping up behind him now, tugging him away from the group, and O'Neill added another fifteen minutes to her shopping spree, hoping like hell she'd get the chance to bankrupt him and build the bike of her dreams. Corbier just stared at the ground, exhausted, ignoring them all. Dave had crossed his arms tight and was cursing in a low, steady stream of fury while Stromburg moved in close. "What do you want us to do?"

He wanted her to do what the scientific staff always did for him: come up with last minute answers, come up with miracle cures and wonders. Instead, he smiled grimly and dropped his pack on the ground. She watched as he calmly took out a thermite grenade and handed it to her. "I want you to help me fry some eggs."

===================================

Daniel Jackson usually saw himself as an even tempered man, controlled and thoughtful. His hands were hard from digging and discovery rather than brute force and violence, and he took pride in that. On the other hand, if Ziusura shoved him one more time he might break a phenomenal streak of good behavior, wrap his hands around Natalie Peng's throat and choke the living daylights out of both her and the snake sitting behind the steering wheel.

"Hurry up!" He heard a twig snap under her feet and spun, glaring into eyes that weren't human anymore.

"Keep your hands off! I'm going as fast as I can."

"Not fast enough Tau'ri! You are slow as an old woman!" Its eyes flashed, voice hissing in double tones.

He threw his machete at its feet. "You want to go faster? Do it yourself!"

Its hand came up like a cobra, gem glowing. "Wretch! Ingrate!"

"Right back at ya!" He stomped closer, right into its face and reached out before his brain had a chance to catch up with his body and shoved her. "Parasite! Snake! SPOILED BRAT!"

"I'll have you whipped!" Spittle flew from its lips as it swung an open hand at his face. He saw that one coming a mile off and ducked, scrambling backwards.

"Clumsy worm! I've had intestinal flukes worse than you!" He was jeering but he was also on his butt and Ziusura was bearing down fast, eyes glowing.

Ziusura grabbed his collar, ignoring the hand he wrapped around its wrist. He dug his thumbs into delicate tendons and Ziusura shook him hard, hissing. "I would leave you for them if I believed they would eat you and not just breed more cursed young."

"You don't have the guts, worm. You're a coward, and you're lazy too!" He sneered, enjoying the way Ziusura's teeth audibly gritted when he curled his lip. He wildly tried to recall all the insults he'd ever heard Jack throw and none of them fit, damn it! "Go on, hit me! You can't even think up a good torture like Apophis! Loser!"

"Impertinent . . . " It shook him again then threw him back. Its hands were shaking as it ran them down the back of its neck, kneading hard. "You are insubordinate. I would punish you were I not kind. Pick up your knife, Tau'ri."

He glared at it, at her, then swept the big knife back up, growling curses. "Kindness? You'd punish me if you didn't plan to hide behind me, worm." He hacked viciously into the green mess, desperately wanting to be anywhere but here. This made faculty meetings and budgets and idiot students look like heaven when once they'd been his hell. This was . . . .

Very strange. He narrowed his eyes, easing up on the vicious swings he took at vines and glanced back again at Ziusura. Its eyes darted around, lightning fast. Daniel took in the tight features and jittery walk and narrowed his eyes, looking around now himself. He slowed his progress, trying to look more carefully where he was going. Shiny leaves and swinging vines caught his attention, made him jump. He shot a dirty look at Ziusura. "Stop twitching. You're making me nervous."

"Wretch," it snarled, but with no real heat. One hand strayed up to the back of its neck.

Daniel felt a sudden chill, watching that. His own hand lifted to his nape, ran slowly down the spine, feeling bone and muscle under the skin. He caught Ziusura watching him and dug his nails into the skin right where the hair grew, scratching at a sudden, horrible, crawling itch that nothing physical caused. "You feel them."

Ziusura started, raised a hand to cover the back of its neck and sneered. "Ignorant fool."

The half-hearted insult made him even more nervous. Daniel swallowed against a cold lump in his throat and edged away from the greenery, back into the cleared path he'd made. "How long have you been feeling them?"

"If you had worked faster we would be safe!" Ziusura was jittering now, pacing a circle around him and flinching at every small sound from the green. Daniel circled slowly, following the Goa'uld, trying to watch it and the jungle beyond all at the same time and getting dizzy for his pains.

Green leaves, gray snarls of vine, gray sky, white eyes. Ziusura's eyes glowed, lips curling back from Natalie Peng's yellowish teeth as her hand came up and Daniel saw the slick motion in the jungle behind her, felt the tickle at the back of his own neck as he threw himself forward and something brushed the back of his head. He screamed and couldn't hear his own voice as the electric whine of a ribbon device slammed over his head. The reek of scorched cloth and a smell like burned hair stung his nose and the world spun as he hit the ground, rolling, trying to see, trying to understand what the hell was happening. Ziusura's back was to him and its weapon whined again. Snarling shrieks echoed between the ruined towers, deafening him.

Daniel hit the ground hard and heavy, knees slamming into the rotting leaves. Something struck him, the blow sending him sprawling face down into the muck. Ziusura was shrieking, an unbroken stream of curses in Goa'uld in crazy harmony with shrill, alien howls and that smell was everywhere, the burning-hair-chemistry-lab stink that made his eyes and nose hurt. Something clawed at the back of his leg, dragging him back and he couldn't roll away with the pack on his back weighing him down but he shoved himself up and to his side to see one of those things hanging over his body, jaw thrusting forward, clawed hand reaching for his face.

"Shit!" He kicked wildly out, instinct sending the kick to the thing's crotch, the motion shifting his balance and taking his head down as the claws swept past his skin so close he could feel the breeze. "- oh god oh god oh god -" It was hissing, drawing back again and there was no way he'd be able to get out of its way this time. Daniel screamed and brought his hands up criss-cross in front of his face as if they could ward the thing off when a hand slapped down against him, shoving him back so he rolled onto his pack as a shrill voice shouted Goa'uld commands to stay down and called him idiot and fool. He'd never thought he'd want to hear a Goa'uld voice but when Ziusura's hand flashed past his face and grabbed the thing's jaw he could have kissed its lips. Ziusura twisted with Goa'uld strength and Daniel stared wide-eyed as the whole creature spun, howling, on the axis of its length. Ziusura was screaming oaths. The creature's screeches rose until he felt them in his bones. The thing's jaw abruptly snapped off and thick, yellowish fluid spurted out to land steaming and hissing on the ground. Ziusura was yanking at his pack, screaming and the spots of fluid were smoking on the ground, eating into the soil. The Goa'uld yanked his pack off, howling at the "stupid slave, Tau'ri fool!" Daniel lurched, saw his pack go flying and saw motion behind Ziusura in the same instant.

"ASS! FOOL!" Harsh, Goa'uld words broke off as they rolled and the bug's tail whistled through the air over their heads.

"DownDownDOWN!" Daniel yanked Natalie's small frame close to his body and threw them a little further. The injured creature was thrashing, pawing at its face. Flecks of liquid splattered through the air and he kept rolling, seeing motion, realizing there were more of the things all around. The world was chaos, jumping motion and sticks cracking and poking under him as he rolled, Ziusura shrieking Goa'uld oaths and squirming wildly in his arms.

He came up on his feet automatically, years of training getting him onto his feet without thought or conscious effort to find himself face to face with a slick, gray face, profoundly inhuman. What would have been lips on a human peeled back and teeth were bared inches from his face. "Oh shit!"

A ribbon device whined behind him. A small, warm back pressed against his - Ziusura pressed to his back - and he felt the tiny jolts as she shot but he couldn't look. Hell, he couldn't breathe. He forced himself to take a tiny breath to keep from getting dizzy and smelled that acrid, chemistry lab stink. The jaws opened and he flinched and it wasn't Ziusura's back pressed to him now as she grabbed his left shoulder and hiked herself up on his back, shoved her right hand past his face and the thing's jaws slid out, hissing and the ribbon whined and Daniel suddenly saw the world in slow motion, screaming, "Don't shoot it! God's sake don't shoot it!"

"IDIOT!" She was shrieking, English and Goa'uld mixed as he shoved back to knock her off balance and the creature hissed again and lunged, leading with that fanged jaw. Ziusura was still clinging to Daniel's back, arms draped over his shoulders to reach the creature. Daniel saw it coming and suddenly understood that it was aiming past his head, arms swinging out to embrace him - to reach the Goa'uld behind him.

"Don't shoot it! It'll spew acid!" He tried to duck, get out of the way, and Daniel suddenly found himself in a strange dance, dodging back and forth like a demented comedy routine as the creature tried to move around him and he unwittingly moved into its path.

Ziusura clung to his back like a limpet. "Stop moving!"

"Let go of me!!" They were both screaming and the creature was hissing and Daniel was trying to backpedal out of the creature's grasp while Ziusura wrapped skinny legs and arms around his waist and neck. He grabbed one bony wrist and tried to wrench the Goa'uld loose. "Get off! Get off!"

"You'll get me killed, you damn Tau'ri! It'll kill me! Hold still!"

"Get -" "Hold still!" Ziusura's palm was suddenly pressed to Daniel's temple. He froze. The creature froze. No one spoke. In the sudden quiet he could hear Ziusura pant, hear the strange, wet sounds as the creature's jaw slid in and out with a sticky, tacky sound. Daniel blinked, wondering idly if it was a personal quirk, like a nervous habit, or if that kept the jaw lubricated for smoother motion in attack.

"Dance." Ziusura's whisper stirred the hair by his ear.

Daniel blinked again, wondering if shock had addled his wits. He whispered, "What?"

"These things are like bees. They communicate like bees."

"Oh, sure! So I'm supposed to waltz with it?"

"More like a tarantella." Ziusura's weight shifted on his back. "Move your hand. Slowly, up and down."

Daniel swallowed hard against a lump in his throat and did it. The creature's head tilted oddly as the small eyes followed the motion and one outstretched, clawed hand twitched.

"This your theory, Snake?" Daniel kept his voice low though he knew the creature wouldn't care. But he kept moving his hand and it stayed still except for the one hand that mirrored his moves.

"If it gives you confidence, know it was Dr. Peng's belief. She studied the insects from which these things come."

"Ooooh, right. And genetically engineered weapons will be just like the bugs." He slowly shifted his balance, bringing the other hand into motion too and the creature also moved, shifting its weight back to mimic Daniel's dance.

"If you have a better plan then please share it, Tau'ri. I am open to suggestions."

Daniel froze for an instant at the lunacy of those words in that voice, then kept dancing. The creature twitched when he stopped, then smoothly continued to mimic as he moved. "Where's the pack?"

"Behind us. About 6 meters away."

"You could get it."

"You are a fool!"

"You're probably right." He giggled and shook his head, and the creature shook its head too, spittle flecking across Daniel's jacket. He decided not to shake his head again. "We need to get the grenades."

"If you move quickly it will strike. If I move it will strike at me. The dance baffles it."

"Oh, that part I got." He didn't add that it baffled him too. "How long are you going to use me as a shield?"

"If you had let me shoot it I would be safe now."

"You'd be short one bodyguard," he groused. And angled for a little leverage. "Who's to say you won't need a shield again."

"True." Couldn't fault Ziusura for too much tact. "Try to take a step back."

He did it slowly and the creature followed him. Slowly. "Still too close to shoot."

"I know that. Is it too close for the grenade?"

"They don't splatter the same way." Daniel took a breath. His ears were ringing with stress. "If we get there can you get to the grenades?"

"It will attack." The arms around his neck tightened an instant then loosened. "I . . . if it attacks me you will be able to reach the pack."

Daniel was so shocked he stopped for a moment and only snapped back into focus as the creature brought its mouth back into attack range. "Are you offering to risk yourself for me?!"

"Brain damaged child of a spraddle-hipped diseased whore!"

"Okay, guess not." He slid a foot back and fell into a tai chi stance, weight balanced back. Relief tingled down his nerves as the creature also shifted back even though it followed him forward step by deliberate step. "How long will it do this?"

"There's a rhythm. But it will see any abrupt motions of your hands or feet as attacks. And it will attack me regardless."

"That's very nice but how LONG will it do this?"

"Do not criticize ME for Dr. Peng's shortcomings!"

"You don't know."

"Keep moving."

"I really hate the Goa'uld."

"Were you not such fine hosts you would be worthy only to smite."

"I'll keep that in mind. How much further?"

"Keep dancing and let me worry about that."

Something changed. The creature shifted opposite to Daniel's next move instead of mirror to the step. "Uhh, Ziusura . . ."

"Keep dancing! It is trying to communicate."

"I don't care what it has to say!"

"I don't care what YOU have to say. Dance!"

"I saw this in a movie once. It didn't end well."

"Almost there, Tau'ri. Do not lose your feeble nerve now."

"You are so encouraging." Daniel carefully placed another foot back, striving to keep his balance with the Goa'uld on his back and the uneven ground under his feet. "You'd have made a great Air Force officer."

"Two more steps. Then you must drop to the ground and out of my way."

His mind went blank for a moment, then he took another step. "One," he whispered, and felt a breath as Ziusura whispered too.

"Two!"

Everything happened at once. Ziusura released him and Daniel dropped as the creature lunged at the air where he had been. God, but it was so fast. He fell back over the lumpy shape of the pack, scrambling blindly for the flap as he tried to spot where the creature had gone. Ziusura was screaming, locked in its grip, the two of them moving so fast their limbs blurred. Daniel fumbled a thermite grenade from the pack and moved in, towards the Goa'uld and its foe, trying not to think about what he was doing. "Ziusura!"

He could see it now, Natalie Peng's hands but a Goa'uld's strength, one hand pinning the creature's wrist, the other locked around its mobile, inner jaw and shoving it back, twisting and turning. The creature's free hand spiked into Natalie's back, the tail thrashed and swept Daniel's feet from under him. "FUCK!"

"Bring the grenade!"

"TO YOU?"

"Come to me, fool!"

He rolled away from the tail and scrambled back to his feet, moving in from the angle the tail couldn't reach. "Why am I doing this?"

Daniel didn't really expect - or want - an answer from Ziusura. Nonetheless. "Because I will kill you if this thing does not!"

"Right. Good answer." He moved in fast, keeping at Ziusura's back and touched its shoulder when he got close. "I'm here!"

Blood stained the Goa'uld's back where the creature was clawing away. Its iron tang hung heavy, spiked with the acrid reek of the creature's scent. Ziusura was still twisting the jaw and Daniel could see the flexible bone bending out of shape, see yellow acid blood dribbling where splinters stabbed out through the skin. "Shove - the - grenade - . ."

Oh god. He knew what Ziusura wanted. Oh. Blinking his own sweat from his eyes, he pressed closer and armed the grenade. "It's ready."

"Outer jaws!"

Daniel tasted bile, felt his balls draw up to his body. "I can't!"

"DO IT! IT MUSTN'T SPIT IT OUT!"

He pressed tight to Ziusura's back, feeling the creature's ridged hand against his chest between his body and Natalie's back. Little details seemed so big as he reached past, like the way Natalie's black hair tickled his face and the sickening smell of acid eating skin. He reached in close, feeling the slime of its saliva on his hand and wondering why it didn't burn like the blood as he shoved the grenade past the outer, larger jaws and then it was done and he was throwing himself back and away and hearing the grenade's muffled sound. Ziusura screamed and the creature made a sound that felt like it would make Daniel's eardrums burst. He rolled himself up in a ball and shut his eyes and covered his head with his hands, screaming and couldn't hear the sound of his own voice.

Something hard kicked his side and something heavy fell across him. The sound of the creature's shrieking climbed up and up 'til it felt like he could see the sound as much as hear it. Then it stopped. His ears rang. The slime on his hands smelled foul and he whined and wiped it off his hands, pawed at his face to get it off, out of his hair, off of his skin. Looked up and around knowing that if there was another then he was dead, but there wasn't. A jumbled form burned at the side of the clearing, and other creatures lay smoking in the waste of their own acid blood. He could see the burns of the ribbon device on one.

Ziusura lay sprawled across his legs, ungainly and unconscious. Red blood had soaked the back of its shirt but when Daniel lifted the cloth he could see how the bleeding slowed, the jagged wounds looking strangely false as the blood ceased to well. Goa'uld healing. The host still breathed and its wounds were not lethal. Ziusura would be fine.

Daniel huddled up, wrapped his arms around his knees and took a minute to himself to shake. He'd earned it. He deserved it. He'd consider it an advance on the nervous breakdown he was owed.

The sun was setting and his arms and legs felt like jelly as the adrenaline in his body ebbed. When he finally felt he could move, he reached over and checked the pack and counted one last grenade left. That made him feel a little queasy, too, but puking wasn't going to get him another grenade. He sighed and finally stood up, lifting the pack up onto his back. This wouldn't be a good place to stay. Fumes and fear would keep them awake, at the very least. Leaning down, he shook Ziusura. "Wake up. Come on, your Snakiness, wake up."

"We still live." Glowing eyes opened and he'd have sworn Ziusura looked surprised. He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face.

"Yeah. I know. I don't quite believe it myself. Look, I think we should get away from here."

Ziusura looked around at the carnage and gave a nod. "In this I would concur. Help me to rise."

He pulled it to its feet, steadying it. "Careful. It got you bad."

He got a long, thoughtful look in return. "You saved our life."

Daniel Jackson thought about it, and nodded. "I did. I really don't want to die in this place."

A lot of strange expressions flickered across the Goa'uld's face, none of them easy to read. It finally nodded. "Good. Then you won't anger me again."

He grimaced and let his hand fall. "It's nice to know that some things never change."


	11. Tarantella 11

Sam twitched at the voice that came from around her knees.

“Attack or defend?”

She looked back and down at where Alain Corbier sat hunched on the ground. His filthy face was streaked with sweat, pale with pain and exhaustion through the grime, but his eyes were bright and alert. He met her gaze and clarified, “When the Colonel does his big bang what’ya think they’ll do? Attack or defend?”

Sam looked up, towards buildings where a hint of movement in the shadows set her nerves thrumming. “That’s not really my job, Corbier. That’s why we have cultural experts – to figure out that kind of question. And the Colonel to figure out what to do about it.”

He snorted. “You’re one of the brains, Major. You have to have an idea.”

“It’s not my job -” The look he gave her made the excuse impossible to say.

“Major, it’s my job to do what my country needs, even if I get killed. Part of your job is knowing how and why.” He shrugged, shot her an apologetic grimace. “I figure I’m never gonna really know why. But I’d like to be ready for how.”

She fidgeted a moment, then sighed. “Unofficial and informal?”

“S’how I’m asking.” His teeth flashed in a quick grin. “Come on. Keeps my mind off my fuckin’ leg.”

She nodded and gave him her answer. “I think they’ll attack.”

Teal’c’s low voice startled her again. “Why do you believe that, Major Carter?”

She glanced over to where he guarded their other flank and then turned back to watch her side again. “I’m just guessing, Teal’c.”

“I would like to know your reasoning. Please go on.” There was no challenge in his tone, just calm curiosity.

“Well . . .” She paused, glancing to where the Colonel was talking to Stromburg and Dave. She dropped her voice a little. “So far they’ve been driving us towards their young because we’re prey. We may be dangerous, but I guess their young are pretty tough. But when the Colonel hits them he’ll be showing them we’re successful predators and that we’re dangerous to their young. It’s just about nightfall. They may be just acting on instinct or like animals, but I don’t think they’ll let a dangerous entity stay in proximity to their young.”

“Uh huh.” Corbier sounded grimly satisfied. “About like I figured it too. Defense, that’d be for critters trying to keep us away from their young to start with or keep us controlled until they’re ready to use us.”

“They’re the top predators in this system. Top predators don’t tolerate successful competitors remaining in circulation.” Sam scanned the building faces again. The late afternoon sun hung low, dazzling where it got past her sunglasses. “I wonder how the people ever evolved with these things here.”

“Like we’re herd cows.” Corbier’s voice was grim.

“I think that unlikely, but that question is rather unimportant at the moment.” Teal’c moved back a little, closer to them even as he kept his eyes on the dilapidated buildings on the sunny side of the street. “I would very much enjoy knowing whether these creatures ever venture into the deeper recesses of these structures. Their behavior suggests they do not.”

It was an unusually long speech for Teal’c and Sam studied him a moment, until a wry voice brought her around with a nervous start.

“Hey, kids. You passing notes in the back of the class?”

“Sir?”

“O’Neill.”

And more softly, Corbier’s whispered curse and complaint, “. . . Officers got ears like bats.”

“That’s how we get to be officers.” Colonel O’Neill was tossing a thermite grenade back and forth, left hand to right and back again, flipping once each time. He grinned too brightly. “Come on, share it with all of us.”

“It was nothing, Sir.” Sam shifted, one foot to the other and stood a little straighter. She had questions but she’d be damned if she’d spook the others by suggesting a lack of faith in his plan.

Teal’c, however, was an entirely different matter. “Had I faced this situation as First Prime, O’Neill, I might have weighed the relative value of attacking a stationary resource such as the eggs.”

The Colonel nodded thoughtfully. “And you would have weighed it against . . . let me guess . . . trying to punch through a relatively thin flanking force?”

Teal’c tilted his staff towards the side of the street, the subtle movement letting the setting sun play over the metal. “In my experience attacking such a force is superior to defending against an enfilade.”

“Enfilade?”

“That is the correct term, is it not?”

“You didn’t pick that up from Jerry Springer.” The Colonel still grinned, though it was fading. Teal’c raised an eyebrow. The Colonel sighed and stopped tossing the grenade between his hands. “I could ask you to just trust me.”

“You could.”

“We do, Sir.”

Dark eyes met hers. She could see him reading her face, then down to study Corbier and back up to Teal’c. He rolled his eyes finally and waved one hand in a circle, taking in the street, them, the whole situation. “If I had an army here, Teal’c, I’d agree with you. And probably Carter since I figure she’s thinking the same thing. But I don’t.”

He was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Sam dropped her eyes from his, looked over to meet Teal’c’s gaze and back. She took a deep breath. “Sir, it does seem possible that doing this could provoke them.”

The Colonel gave a humorless snort. “Ya think?”

“Great. Do you people always do this song and dance?” Corbier’s voice was sour.

The Colonel shot him the kind of look that made Sam’s stomach tighten in an ‘oh-shit-what’d-I-do’ reflex, but his voice was mild, even pleasant. “You wanted to ask me something, sergeant?”

“Damn right!”

Sam heard an outraged Chulakian oath from Teal’c even as she wheeled on Corbier to slap down the blatant insubordination. “That’s enough, sergeant.”

“It’s okay, Major. The man’s got a question.” The Colonel’s lilting tone sounded quite cheerful. Sam looked up to meet Teal’c’s eyes and saw the same wariness she was feeling.

Something must have finally triggered a much-delayed survival instinct in Corbier who opened his mouth, shut it, cleared his throat and went on much more politely. “Permission to speak freely, Colonel O’Neill?”

The Colonel’s affable-seeming grin widened and never reached his eyes. “By all means.”

Corbier sucked in an audible breath. “You get us killed, that’s what I figure officers do. Sir. But Colonel O’Neill, if I’m gonna die I want to take the bastards out with me. This . . . “

Corbier trailed off, waving vaguely towards the sides of the street. Sam took a quick look at streets glowing in late afternoon sunlight then back to the Colonel, who waggled his eyebrows and tilted his head encouragingly. He mimicked Corbier’s gesture, waving his grenade in a circle. “This . . .?”

“Forget it. Sorry, Sir.” Corbier backed down, voice sour and resigned.

Teal’c’s voice startled Sam. She saw Corbier twitch at the sound. “O’Neill, I believe that Sergeant Corbier was inquiring about the relative efficacy of using grenades to attack stationary, passive targets as opposed to using them to breach the enemy line.”

The Colonel rocked back and forth, heel to toe, studying Teal’c, Corbier, finally meeting Sam’s eyes. He sucked in a deep breath, then looked into the lowering sun and blew the breath out, deflating. “Christ, I hate show and tell.”

“Sir, I’m sure . . .” He waved her to a stop; she wondered what she’d have said if he hadn’t.

“S’okay, Carter. The man’s got a right to know.” He looked down at the grenade in his hands, and up again at them. “Teal’c, let me see if I have it right. You figure we’re in a pincer move and basically those eggs are impassable. So when you were First Prime you’d have told your guys to punch a hole sideways. Carter, you figure the same thing, right? Straight out of all those military strategy classes you probably got a A in, right?”

Sam cleared her throat and finally nodded. “Yes, Sir. I . . . it seems like a waste of materials to attack the eggs, Sir. They’re stationary. We have limited supplies. We’re so close to the gate, Sir. If we broke through their lines we might make it.”

She stopped. The silence between them all settled. Corbier was nodding. Teal’c was impassive but one eyebrow rose as the Colonel looked in his direction. Behind him, Dave and Stromburg and the other guy had moved closer, were listening, faces tense. The Colonel glanced at them all, shoved back his cap to rake fingers through his hair and waved the cap at the setting sun. “It sounds nice, Carter, but we’d be fighting a running battle, retreating and trying to protect our rear.”

“But we’d be armed.” Sam blurted it out and then stopped. Teal’c spoke next. “O’Neill, I will follow your orders. My will is yours. But to know – if a man is to die, the reasons matter. Is this revenge or is it truly a plan?”

“You mean am I doing this to hit ‘em where it hurts?” The Colonel smirked. “I won’t pretend there’s not a little of that in there, the revenge part of it at least, but this is how I see it. If I had an army, yeah, I’d be trying to punch that hole. But I don’t. I’ve got six people and I want to keep them all alive. Crap. I really hate this . . .” He shook his head and started moving, pacing, looking up towards the sides of the street. “They hunt in the day, Carter. You said it. They only attacked us that one time at night, when we had a fire. Sort of an opportunity thing. Remember what happened? They got in each other’s way. They got tangled up with those long tails and claws. And they don’t hunt in big packs, either, you notice that?”

Sam looked up and down the street where furtive movements in the shadows suggested dozens of things hiding, moving. When she turned she saw Teal’c doing the same thing. They looked at each other, then at Colonel O’Neill. They didn’t have to say it out loud. He snorted in faint amusement. “I know. There’s a hell of a lot of them there. But they’re not hunting, not really. They’re driving us. Daniel and Rossiter fended off an attack. They’d never have survived a big group. And Stromburg – was that a big group that attacked you guys?”

“I . . . I can’t recall.” She fidgeted and looked away.

“Probably not. If big groups worked then you’d be dead. Small groups and a few of you get away.” The Colonel turned back towards them. “They want us to walk into the eggs; well, hell with that. But right now, take a good look. They’re in the walls but they’re strung out. We try to bust through the lines, they’ll just mass up and turn us back. Sooner or later we go down to attrition, at best. But we attack their young and I’ll lay odds they lose it and attack. All of ‘em at once.”

Sam shuddered at the thought and her mouth tasted metallic from fear. The guy whose name she’d forgotten, or maybe never knew, was the one to say it out loud. His voice twanged with nerves. “They’ll rip us to shreds. That’s your big plan?”

The Colonel looked towards him. Sam could see him waiting until the other guy met his eyes, then he went on. “Teal’c led armies. The Major studied tactics. For armies. Hell, I’ll bet Corbier’s got some military history under his belt too. I didn’t lead armies. I handled surgical insertion and extraction for small units in the field. You’re going to have to trust me on this, all of you. The only chance we’ve got is if they come at us in a mob. They’re not good in big groups and they’re lousy at night. Think about it. You see them in the buildings but they stay by the windows. Their nests are glued outside, not in where you’d think they’d be safe. They hunt in the day in small groups Hell, there’s probably more but that’s what I saw. If we try to do this the old-fashioned way they’ll take us out one at a time. That’s if we’re lucky.”

Sam finally nodded, and spoke. “Or throw us to the eggs themselves. They’re big and fast, but they’re diurnal. And those tails and claws and teeth . . . It’d make sense if that’s why they haven’t engaged us yet. It’s easier to wait overnight and push us when they can see us, in the day.”

The Colonel pointed towards her with his grenade. His voice was sarcastic. “And you go to the head of the class. Any more questions people? Can we pretend we’re in the Air Force again?” He looked at Corbier, then up to her and Teal’c, and to the three standing behind him. Sam bit down on her lips, faintly sick at the look she’d caught in his eyes, a look that told her they’d have a lot to talk about later.

He crooked a finger in her direction. “Major?”

Okay, not so much later after all. She stepped away from Corbier, out of earshot though she was sure Teal’c’s sharp ears could still hear. As was the Colonel, whose eyes flickered up once then came back to her face, dark and unreadable. “Feel better now, Carter?”

Sam took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, taking parade rest. “Sir. I will formally submit myself for disciplinary action upon retu –“

“Ah ah ah! Stop.” Colonel O’Neill waved her words away. “Last I looked I was just a colonel, not a king. You get to ask questions and sometimes I even need to answer them. But Carter . . .from now on, leave the ‘questions in the middle of a crisis’ thing to Daniel. Okay?”

“Yeah.” She mustered a smile from somewhere. “He does it better than I do.”

“Not that you were completely off base.” The Colonel tossed his grenade in the air and caught it again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I really want to blow up some eggs.”

Her sober mask shattered and she couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped. “Make some omelets, Sir?”

“I’m a lousy cook. I figure I’ll just scramble the bastards instead.”

“Ummm. I do have one more question.”

All the humor dropped from his face and cold, intent eyes fixed on her face. His voice was neutral. “Go on.”

“When?”

A slow smile grew across his face. He waved at the shadowed side of the street behind his back. “Best time for any attack, Carter. Just after sundown. It’s probably just as well you guys dragged me into that dog and pony show. Kept you kids from getting all wound up.”

She grinned ruefully, acknowledging the mild dig. “So we’ve got about a half hour?”

“Carter, I didn’t tell you to stop asking questions. Just to get the timing right. What do you really want to know?”

“What happens next? After they mob us.”

“Knew you could do it.” He grinned. “And the answer is . . . we improvise. I’ll take point. I want you and Teal’c on our six. Make sure Corbier keeps up. We’ll break for the southern side of the street. We need to get through their line and into the building. After that, it’s all seat of the pants and keep heading east.”

“Right.” She bit her tongue and reflexively caressed her weapon, taking comfort in its hard, reliable contours. “We’re pretty close to the gate, aren’t we? I make it about three streets south and maybe three miles east of here.”

“Piece of cake.” The Colonel held out his grenade to her. “Here.”

“I’ve got about five, Sir.”

“It’s my lucky grenade, Carter.” His smile was stubbornly confident. “If I haven’t had to use it so far then maybe you won’t either.”

She reached out, touched it with the tips of her fingers then met his eyes. Wanted to say she was scared. Wanted to say she was proud to serve. Settled for, “Thank you, sir. I’ll use it well.”

“We’ll be fine, Major. If nothing else, we’ll survive just to kick Daniel’s ass for getting us into another fine mess.”

She bit down hard on both lips but this time the emotion was sudden, wild laughter. His eyes sparkled too. She nodded and glanced back, seeing their scruffy group huddled together making plans. And Teal’c, standing implacable guard, who nodded to her and briefly, respectfully, bowed his head to the Colonel.

The sun was below the roofline and the street fell into gloom. The Colonel gave her shoulder a friendly pat and turned away. Three steps and he suddenly stopped, turned back to meet her eyes. “He’d have asked the same questions, Carter. You know?”

“He’s better at it, Sir.” She held her breath, waiting.

He finally nodded, a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s not tell him that, okay?”

She nodded. He turned away, striding towards Stromburg’s little group like he didn’t have a care in the world. Teal’c and Corbier were waiting for her. She straightened her back and walked . . . like she did not have a care in this whole, damned world.

===================================

 

Daniel Jackson was sick of blood, but somehow wounds without blood were worse. He gritted his teeth and pinched together another bloodless, rubbery inch of skin and shoved the pre-threaded needle through it.

Under his hands, Ziusura twitched a shoulder. “You waste time.”

“I’m working as fast as I can.”

The Goa’uld twisted, pulling the needle out of his hands. A small, inhumanly strong hand closed around his wrist. “If you wish to serve me, Tau’ri, there are other, more pleasant ways.”

Ziusura’s leer sat badly on Natalie Peng’s plain, fine-boned face. Daniel twisted his wrist but the Goa’uld held tight. “Let go, Ziusura. We’ve already been through this.”

That small, stolen hand kept pulling, drawing him down nose to nose. Ziusura’s breath should have been stale, sour from days on foot. Goa’uld immunity rendered it odorless, warm and wrong on a level so deep he felt it in his bones. The creature turned its face, brushing lips against his and Daniel flinched. It pulled him closer, tongue pushing past his lips, working at his teeth. Daniel growled deep in his throat and wrenched himself loose, backing away. “Don’t do that again.”

Ziusura smirked. “Your kind are so confused. Why do you do this?”

Daniel rubbed at his bruised wrist, lips curling back from his teeth. “I am in no way confused about you. And I have been very clear that you are to keep your hands off me.”

The Goa’uld stood with a slow, boneless grace its host had never had. “I know your kind. I know you. You balk but I can give you everything you want.”

“But my freedom.”

“Freedom.” It waved the statement away. “Insects are free. Vermin is free. I offer you eons. Time to search, to learn, to know. Wealth and power, Tau’ri. Your kind thirst for such.”

“Not me.”

It snorted, an incongruously normal sound. “Your kind do not change so much. So short-lived, my dear. Do you truly not dream of the time? So many secrets to learn. I can give you centuries to learn.” It stepped closer. “Centuries to find knowledge and love.”

He stared appalled at the creature smiling coyly up at him from under its lashes. The pink tip of its tongue ran across dry, cracked lips. Daniel snarled, “Shut up.”

Ziusura quirked a brow. “Passion suits you. It must feel like wine in your blood.”

Daniel shut his eyes, trembling with the desire for violence. He slowly relaxed his hands from fists he hadn’t known he’d made and shook himself, feeling filthy. “That’s disgust. Look. I need you. You need me. For just a little while longer. Then I hope I never see you again and I hope the next time I hear your name is when you die.”

“Such spite.” It smiled gently. “Your pretense is so fragile. Why do you even bother?”

“Pr- ,” He stood there, open-mouthed, trying to find words. He finally spun away from the creature, trying to find something to do. “Damn it. I’m not doing this.”

“Do not turn away from me!”

The snap of vegetation crushed under foot gave an instant’s warning before it yanked him around. He grabbed the hand that clutched his shirt and raised a fist. “Let go! Get your hands off me!”

It caught his raised fist, pulling him close. “I have been patient with you. I have been kind.”

“You’re a goddamned parasite! Let go of me!” He thrashed in its grip, letting go of the its wrist to jam the heel of his hand into its face.

The Goa’uld shook him, hissing, “There was a time when you begged to come unto us.”

The words cut through his rage. He froze, breathing hard. He had to force his words past clenched teeth. “If you say her name I will kill you. I swear I will kill you.”

Ziusura smiled, an ugly expression. “Shall I fear the killer of infants? I like this in you. I like your true face.”

As quickly as he’d gone hot, he went cold, his anger cooling to a pure, hard hate. “You’re a thief. Without the host your kind are mindless, ugly worms. You steal everything, even your minds.”

“Arrogant beast! We gave your kind everything. We gave you your gods. We gave you your words. You should beg for my touch and weep joy at my favor!”

“You can let go now, worm.” He shuddered, sickened by its touch and, even more, by the rage he’d felt.

It shook him again. The smile was gone, leaving baffled anger. “Why?”

“What?” Its question confused him.

The hand clenching his shirt let go, rose to stroke his hair. “So smooth. Your kind has skin like silk. The first host I took moved so smoothly for me, dancing around me. I would dance with you for a thousand years.”

Daniel tasted bile at the thought. “I’d rather be eaten by bugs.”

His head rang as it slapped him so fast he didn’t see it coming. Ziusura leaned over him, grabbing his shoulders. “How dare you! Obstinate, arrogant meat! I would bless your flesh with my touch and you spurn me?”

“Natalie’s an entomologist, Ziusura. Ask her about maggots, parasite.” The small hands tightened on his shoulders and shook him. Daniel brought his arms up in a block, trying to break the hold.

“I am a god!” It yowled, eyes glowing and spittle flying.

“You’re a delusional worm!”

It shook him then threw him back to the ground. “Be grateful for your beauty and Our love.”

“Love? LOVE?” He sat up, rubbing his bruises. “You don’t know what the word means! You . . . even using the word is a joke from you. ALL of you. You don’t LOVE us. You use us!”

Ziusura crouched down, smiling at him. “As do you with your livestock. Which you have always loved. I remember your people, and their horses. In Egypt they mummified cats. Revered kine.” It caressed his cheek. “You loved them all. And ate their flesh.”

Daniel swallowed against a sudden sour taste at the back of his throat. He whispered, “That’s not the same.”

“Of course not. We did not devour our loved ones. Nor did we wipe them out.”

Suddenly feeling on firmer ground, he bridled. “Lies. I’ve seen the peoples you’ve destroyed, seen the bodies you left behind.”

One fine-boned, grimy hand waved his words away. “Trivial. Your kind have ever been on the verge of destroying yourselves. Our love for you saved you. We made sure your kind would survive even in the face of your own hate.”

“What?” Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “W-w-what!? You saved . . . you . . . are you crazy? No, you’re Goa’uld. What was I thinking.”

“You would contest morals with me, little creature? I am a god. Morals are my will.”

Daniel felt his mouth flap open, shut. “

It chuckled. The sound was like fingernails on blackboards. “Your outrage would be offensive were it not ludicrous. Would you truly assert your kind have not sought to destroy each other time and time again?”

“That is not the point!”

“Do you then permit those you love to die?” Ziusura smiled sweetly and shook its head in a show of bemusement. “My kind preserves those we love, keeps you alive and strews your seed ‘mongst the stars.”

“You farm us.” There was a sour taste in Daniel’s mouth. “We’re livestock to you.”

“And what of it? You travel in herds. You treat each other as you claim we treat you, yet you give no such return as do we, who are your gods. This host remembers slavery among your kind. My sweet, this host knows that your kind chooses for beauty and strength even as do your gods. Would you damn your gods for acting as you yourselves do? Your gods, at least, possess divine right.”

Daniel glared at it, breathing hard, words on the tip of his tongue. Lies on the tip of his tongue. He gestured, coughed, tried again. “We admit our wrongs. When we know we’ve done wrong, we change. Unlike you.”

Ziusura laughed. Threw back its head and pealed with glee. “You do? Yet your people still hold slaves, my dear. Do you tell me true that your kind no longer torture their own?”

“They . . . They are blinded and . . . “ He stopped. Swallowed bitter words, lips drawing into a thin line.

The Goa’uld slunk closer to him with boneless grace. “Do your kind now show kindness amongst them so that men - and women - no longer starve in the street, Daniel Jackson?”

“You know the answer to that.” He wrapped his arms in a tight clench across his chest. “I don’t want to be played with.”

“No game, Tau’ri. You condemn my kind for choosing among you.” Its voice was suddenly sharp and hard. “You condemn us for using your kind. How dare you. How dare you? How dare you stand before us and claim your kind are better? Claim you do not need your gods? Claim that we are evil for our love and our kindness and our care of you, who are as children to us. We care for you and you claim abuse? We keep you safe and you scream protest? Your arrogance is beyond belief. Yet we do love you still.”

Its last words were a verbal caress that raised the hair on his nape. “The mistakes are ours to make. Mistakes are the right of all sentient creatures, Ziusura. It is how we learn and grow. We need freedom to grow.”

It tilted its head to the side, apparently weighing his words. “If your kind gave such freedom to each other I might believe you. I might grant you the freedom you crave. But a child will ask for freedom before being ready to accept its duties. And such is true of you.”

“That is NOT your decision to make!”

“Is it then not a parent’s decision to make?”

“You are not my parent! Not our parents! You are vermin!”

“Yet we do no more than you to cause harm, and a great deal more than you to keep your kind alive. We were, indeed, the parents of your languages, your arts, your great civilizations.”

“Bullshit.” He instantly regretted the word but by then it was too late.

It smiled at him. “Daniel Jackson, you are a credit to your kind yet you cannot honestly defend them. If you could claim their virtues in truth, you would do so. You would not need . . . Invective.” The word was delivered with visible glee.

Daniel sat, breathing hard and swallowing hard against the taste in his mouth. “We are still growing. Learning. And that can only happen with freedom.”

“Which any good parent will grant when it is earned by the child.”

He clenched his teeth against the words he wanted to say, digging his fingers into his arms. His jaw ached. He slowly opened his hands, one finger at a time, and deliberately looked away from Ziusura’s intent stare. “We should make camp.”

“Yes.” The double voice rang with satisfaction. “Please do. And shall we speak more of your kind and their achievements? I truly enjoy your thoughts, and find your voice pleasing to the ear.”

“You can stop now.” Daniel turned towards the dryer side of the street, kicking through rubble, looking for shelter.

Ziusura followed him, ostentatiously holding its ribbon weapon at the ready. “I would not wish you to come to harm, Daniel. You should not stray from my protection.”

He spun, glaring back at the creature. “Stop it. I don't believe in the Machiavelli argument."

"Machiavelli . . ." The double-toned voice rolled the name. Ziusura shrugged. "Why would I care about a Tau'ri thinker? You need only look at your species' actions. I speak reality."

Daniel caught the hand that petted his chest, pulling it away from his skin. "You're just using the same argument every tyrant ever used, no matter what their species. And they're all worms, Ziusura, whether they've got two legs or not. There will always be people who claim everyone else is sheep."

The hand he held twisted, wove fingers through his. "Yet despite your words, your people truly do act like sheep. They follow though they know their leaders are evil. They turn away from righteousness for a fleeting promise of ease and certainty. At least my kind gave them gods, whose vision spans the ages. Without us they blindly follow the loudest voice, no matter how blind the speaker."

"You destroyed planets! Kept entire worlds of people locked in ignorance and illiteracy to keep them docile!" He stopped shouting and yanked his hand away from the creature's touch. "Brute force and terror aren't leadership."

"And when your own kind learns that lesson perhaps you will be worthy to lead yourselves. We know your kind, Daniel. We love your kind, despite your sins." Its voice was gentle, soothing. Smug.

Daniel blinked, stunned by the audacity of the statement. He finally shook his head and smiled gently back. "I hope we learned it from you. I hope it isn't inherent to my kind, lying by labels like that. George Orwell would have recognized you, Ziusura. He'd have laughed."

Ziusura shook its head, making a regretful moue. "Another so-called philosopher, Daniel? You have the great religious texts. We gifted you with our wisdom, gave you holy books. You still let these heretics lead you astray?"

"One of our holy books denounces the false gods, Ziusura."

"Is that the book that tells you to forgive? Turn the other cheek? Love your brother? Refrain from murder and adultery and theft?" Ziusura smiled brightly and gave a tiny, soundless clapping movement with the tips of its slender, stolen fingers. "Your kind has come so far!"

"Some of us have." Daniel slowly let go of the anger that had stiffened his spine, left him nearly shaking as he faced the Goa'uld. "When we escape from the box, when we refuse to let any god, any ruler, blind us we grow. It's slow and painful but it's real."

The thin fingers hovered in the air beside his face, then drew back. Ziusura smiled kindly. "All parents face this dilemma, Daniel. Do you let the child wander or do you keep the child close? Wise parents raise strong children. Weak ones raise children who are wild, if they survive at all."

Daniel smiled ruefully. "You have a great future in politics, Ziusura. I know a senator who'd love to get a good spin doctor."

"You do not refute my words?" Ziusura smiled back.

"We're not debating anything real, Ziusura. I'm telling you adults need freedom to learn and you're feeding me condescension and propaganda. What's to refute?"

The so-ordinary brown eyes flashed briefly molten white, plain features pinching into anger, then smoothing into indulgence. "One day you, too, may know a parent's dilemma, child. I shall do my best to see you safely home, Daniel. No matter what you say."

He clenched his teeth a moment then relaxed again. And smiled back. "And I'll let you hide behind me all the way. Now, about that camp . . ."

"It is midday, child. Why do you wish to halt? Are you hurt?" The words were spoken in a syrupy tone, sharp eyes fixed on him.

Daniel hesitated, then gestured towards Ziusura's shoulder. "You . . . Natalie was badly hurt. Even with your . . . abilities that kind of injury must be exhausting."

"I'm a god, Daniel." Ziusura held out its hands in what might have been a graceful gesture - on a person wearing robes in a place of pomp and ceremony. It must have seen the thought in his expression. It bridled, lifting a small chin, bracing narrow shoulders. "I shall lead you from the wilderness, Tau'ri."

He snickered. An ugly and remarkably unimpressive scowl contorted its face. "You doubt me?"

The snickers became giggles. Daniel tried to stop and coughed, coughed again, burst out into laughter. "Of course I doubt you! You're leading me? Ziusura, you're hiding behind my back!"

"I have saved your life, Tau'ri!"

"That's true. That is true. Of course, if you hadn't they'd have eaten you up like the gingerbread man."

"I do not know this god . . ." Ziusura looked briefly puzzled, then furious. "You make jest of me!"

"Ziusura, at best you were a flood god. Maybe if I needed swimming lessons I'd buy the act. Naaahhh." He shook his head and giggled again.

A slap rocked him back, stunned. "Show respect, whelp! To your elders and your God!"

Daniel tasted blood. His cheek felt hot. "We've been through this already, Ziusura. And it was a draw. Don't hit me again."

"You are insolent."

"Uh huh. And uppity and ungrateful and sharper than a serpent's tooth. And I stink and my beard itches and I want out of this jungle so if you really don't need to rest, then let's go."

"All right."

"Okay."

"Then go." Ziusura waved and crossed its arms, posing.

Daniel glared, then snorted. Again. His back felt grimy and his t-shirt stuck to his skin as he leaned down to pick up his pack. He could barely smell himself anymore, but what little he could smell told him that being scent-deaf was a good thing. He almost played a macho catch game with his machete, then imagined what Jack would say and just picked the thing up.

Ziusura, much sweeter smelling but just as grimy, picked up the other pack and gestured. "Lead the way."

"Out of the wilderness?"

"Do you want to argue or do you want to go?"

Daniel opened his mouth, then shut it with a snap. Turned and marched into the forest, hacking at the first vine that got in his way. It parted without a sound. Maybe silence was contagious. He could wish.

 

=================================

The walls seethed. Teal'c shifted his grip on the shaft of his staff weapon. He took a deep breath, drawing in humid air full of alien scents, some fresh, others sharp and acrid. The last failing rays of sunlight spilled over the tangled green jungle of the street and the glossy, dirty gray of the things swarming over the walls. He took another deep breath to center himself, glancing over his shoulder to the dark maw in the wall that would lead them into the depths of the buildings. He could not see the walls higher than the second floor, buried as they were beneath the chitinous bodies, and the weight of the creatures above him made the flesh of his scalp prickle.

And yet, it was quiet.

He'd been in this place many times; that last still, calm moment before battle, when the gathering forces drew themselves up before bringing blood forth into the air. He could feel the way his feet rested on the ground, the kiss of wet air on his skin.

100 meters out, he could see Samantha Carter kneeling, braced and ready. Her head moved in small, quick arcs. The crumbling walls of the city seemed to bubble, shiny with greenish-gray bodies. They made a low, grinding roar that set his skin prickling with an ancient distaste. He let his eyes relax, centered on Samantha Carter but taking in everything around him. For just a moment he let himself see her, and only her: the pale hair peeking out from the helmet, pale face and wide, intent eyes. She met his gaze for an instant and her lips twitched into a quick, hopeless smile, then her arc took her gaze back away from him.

He missed Daniel Jackson in that moment, missed the anxious, determined, solid presence; the quick words sharing what had been noted by the even quicker mind. He hoped Daniel Jackson was somewhere calm and safe where walls did not move and nothing hid in the leaves.

He could not see his third teammate, but he could hear him. He knew Jack O'Neill's cajoling, coaxing voice. He'd heard it before, when O'Neill had to convince sane people to do thinks no sane person should. Teal'c had long been sure that O'Neill was not fully sane himself. Teal'c usually held that to be a virtue in an officer, and frequently a large part of O'Neill's charm.

Though charm might be the wrong expression for the gleeful, demented howl that cut through the dusk and made Teal'c flinch to the tune of, "EAT HOT OMELET DEATH, YOU FUCKS!"

And that was the end of the quiet, in every possible way.

High, warbling, civilian war cries were underscored by the dull crump of thermite grenades. The walls seemed to melt as aliens flowed down and towards the humans, and the eggs. It was a hideous flood. Samantha's weapon chattered as frantic yelps and more frantic feet raced his way, and then pale, frightened humans were pelting towards him, herded and guided by O'Neill at their rear.

Teal'c was looking everywhere at once, behind him, around him, and he was suddenly two men. Teal'c, Rya'c's father, saw things moving so quickly, life narrowing down to moments measured by the wild pounding of his heart. But the man who had been a warlord to false gods saw the world slow down. He looked past Samantha Carter's position to see creatures pouring down from the ruined walls. Gaping holes and crumbling stone were left naked behind them. Not important but . . . To his right, the thinning line of jungle rang with the shouts of the people racing through it. O'Neill and the young male Tau'ri, the frightened one, dragged the crippled soldier. The woman and the other man ran before them awkward but intent. And behind him lay what the warlord understood was their bottleneck, the gaping hole that led into the depths, the dark . . .safety. He spun and fanned bolts of energy above him, where the wave of things spilled towards him. Teal'c who was only a man shuddered and bared his teeth. Teal'c the warrior, who'd seen a century of blood, stepped back to let the dead fall like rain. Scorched bodies piled up and he raked the wall above the hole again, deepening the layer. Behind him the sound of the Tau'ri was close. He leveled his weapon and blasted a smoking, foul path through the center of the heap so the dead formed walls to either side. Aiming up, he kept the vulnerable access above them clear as O'Neill and his flock struggled past. Behind him, Samantha Carter's weapon no longer fired in an unbroken shout. It snapped on and off, and then went quiet as her footfalls were loud, crunching through matted greenery, the creak and rustle of her gear sounded as she pelted towards him, joined him and he kept the line of retreat open for O'Neill and the young technician who carried the sergeant into the dark, then Elaine and the younger man followed. Finally, Samantha Carter dodged past him and now their line of retreat was her responsibility. He spun to keep the pursuers far from their heels, backing into the hole, trusting his teammates to hold his own line of retreat open and safe for him.

The part of him that was merely a man wanted to break and let his terror take him back. The warlord looked up at the onrushing clatter of enemy and he, too wanted to break and run. It was the man who trusted Samantha Carter and O'Neill who retreated carefully, flanked by her fire, placing his feet carefully to not trip over the creatures on the ground. A flicker in the corner of his eye and he whipped the butt of the staff around to strike a creature who hissed and wove. The breath of a wind behind him spoke of another but gunfire told him he need not turn that way. Another crowded from a side and another, and so many, too many, swinging his staff in a circle and clawed hands reached, spiked tails flayed the air, one caught his forearm. Then it happened. The tail tangled the claws that reached for his face. He glanced up and shot and two more fell to crush the creatures before him as he backed away. His staff weapon still struck alien flesh and his skin stung with clawed wounds and welts but he could find the space, was not overwhelmed, could fight!

The cool breath of eons of dark swallowed him up as he backed into the building, into the shelter and they were crowding into the gap in front of him and the noise was a crashing, echoing thing punctured by gunshots like tracers punching through the dark. He stopped, made his stand just inside the crumbling walls of the building they'd chosen and held their rear. Samantha Carter crouched to one side, just a little behind him. Nothing would pass. Nothing could, not past the two of them.

The chatter of Samantha Carter's weapon echoed back weirdly from the walls of the ruined hall. It mingled with the growing clatter of hard exoskeletons. Teal'c did not tense but his skin felt electric, eyes scanning. Motion above him drew his attention and he fired upwards at the gaping jaws and claws that lunged down from the battered skyscraper's height above. Fluid spattered but adrenaline showed it in slow motion. Teal'c stepped aside as it smoked into the floor and heavy bodies slammed down onto the ground where he'd been standing, sprawled across a hallway that might have connected offices thousands of years before when bipeds that resembled humans, or himself, had lived here.

It was not lonely, being the last ones facing the horde. No time to feel alone. Behind him, Teal’c could hear the dull crump of the last grenades and the shrill howls of O'Neill's pitiable squad as they forced their way down the hall, hear the sharp, continuous rattle of his teammate's weapon and, oddly, her soft grunts as she braced against the recoil. The sour tang of acid was thick, and the smell of dust and eons of mold. Teal'c drew it deep into his lungs and fired again and again, bringing bodies down, counted like the fingers of two hands.

Three hands, four . ..

They thrashed and writhed, still alive enough to kill, if not to live for much longer.

The one-time warlord of Apophis leveled his weapon and fired again and again, clearing a path through the wall of bodies he was building before their retreat. A zat would have been welcome, but then so would the weapons of a mothership. He smiled serenely and fired again and again, hearing the scientists and the colonel close now, O'Neill bellowing "TEAL'C BUDDY! HAUL ASS!" Teal'c's smile thinned and he took an instant to glance back, spun to fire behind O'Neill's small squad as they ran, limped, dragged their wounded member and pelted further into the dark. The scientists followed the Tau’ri madman just as surely and with as much faith as Teal’c himself did.

Behind them came the enemy, no longer individuals so much a glossy, vile wall of mingled shapes that smoked wherever his weapon blew holes into their mass. "Major CARTER!" He wasn't sure if she could hear him for a moment, but she scrambled up and began her own retreat, following O'Neill and his small group, leaving behind the gap that Teal'c had formed. He spun, made sure the airway above her stayed clear and then backed into the gap he'd made in a wall of dead higher than his head and restless with the last of alien lives.

The trails of acid blood ate into the ground under his feet, leaving it stinking and mushy until he drew back that final step into the dark, ruined hallway and found hard floor under trash, a hard surface after too many days on ground made of eons of soft, shifting leaves. The problem of their escape narrowed for him, becoming as hard and solid as the floor under his feet. The sun's fading light was dull over the howling, slithering wall coming towards him and he bared his teeth and fired again and again and again

Then there was no more time to think, no time to really understand how dark it was. Teal'c's world became a long, dark tunnel, draped in nameless stuff, lit by jarring, bobbing, tiny flashlights that touched but could not break the endless dark. It was shouting and whining and the crash of weapons as bodies came at him and he no longer saw them as individuals but as one great beast, over and over, behind and around and above him. He shot at it, and struck at it, slamming the butt of his weapon against hard shells, against hard claws, into hard teeth.

He didn't, couldn't, stop them all. He just backed and backed, fast steps, trusting his balance to keep him moving. There were instants he'd remember forever, like beads knotted on a string. Backing and catching his heel on debris, falling as the jagged rake of a tail slashed over his head, rolling back to come up firing into it and the burn of acid splashed across his cheek. There was a breath drawn in the stale, reeking air as the mass surged towards him, jamming the narrow tunnel and squirming, the enemy trying to break each other's bodies in the need to reach them, reach him, and destroy. He fired and fired and wondered if this would be the time he learned the limits of his weapon.

There were times that smooth, horrible shapes slid past him like poison flowing around him, to launch at the people he strove to protect. He remembered screams. He remembered the yellowish flashlight shining on blood on skin. Remembered O'Neill's curse and the sight of his commanding officer lunging at a shape that dove towards his charges, tangling into its claws, and the way Samantha Carter's face was unlovely and inhuman, teeth bared and eyes wide as she slammed the butt of her weapon past O'Neill's head, bent and broke the jaws that had thrust towards the man's face.

Teal’c’s body had an impression of warm skin and cloth against his palms as he yanked someone back to their feet and sent them racing on their way, but no memory of a face. Bruises painted his arms from stumbling back into walls, zig zagging across their narrow retreat to keep the surge at bay, screams and light and smells and everywhere, always, glossy dark shapes and the squeal of hard skins rubbing each other, rubbing the walls, the feel of those skins against his own and the stink of them burning his nose. his left hand ached and bled from a puncture -

He had a vague sense of having seized a jaw and yanked a thing forward, insanely towards him but more importantly, into the path of another of its kind. His arms burned in pin dots of acid and his face was scored by the stuff. The staff in his hands was hot. He'd never be able to remember how long they ran. The question made no sense. But there was finally a time there was light and then voices . . .

The voices of strangers were almost as alien as the enemy after all that time with so few, but they were Tau'ri

A warm hand with human skin was on his arm and a voice shouting in his ear and someone who was different, not one of them, stepped past him and threw something back, behind him. Teal'c turned and ran, not thinking, barely feeling, just ran. A concussion cracked and slammed behind him and the dull roar of masonry falling, the squeal of things he'd spent far too long fighting.

Speech made no sense at first. The noise he was hearing slowly became words, the hands patting the air in front of him weren't just random motion but meant something. Teal'c looked up, eyes searching through shapes with the mass of humans, shapes without long tails and whose jaws stayed properly part of their faces.

Familiar faces. He found dark hair flecked with silver first, a lined face pale and a bit blank with the come down from adrenaline. He looked away, found blond hair, slender frame. O’Neill’s tiny cadre was there too, the stocky researcher, her assistants . . . even the wounded sergeant. Teal’c blinked, startled to see that somehow, they’d all survived. All alive. O’Neill turned and found him and his face lit in a smile that showed what Teal’c felt, full of relief and joy and a giddy, fuck-‘em-we’re-alive glee. The Colonel gave him that odd Tau’ri signal, thumbs up in the air and thrusting obscenely. Teal’c let the corner of his mouth twitch upwards and offered the same in return.

Uniformed Tau’ri were crowded around him, examining, questioning, fingers touching spots of blood or burns and yammering at him. Teal’c let them go on for a moment, finding his own calm center to answer from: yes, that hurt; no, it was not serious; yes, he would get it treated; no, he had no deep wounds . . . he finally brushed them aside and found his way to his commanding officer.

Samantha Carter had also fought off her helpers, joining her team. The three of them paused a moment, together. It was noisy, with loud, relieved explanations from their rescued scientists, insistent queries from the corpsmen, weapons firing back towards the tunnel that had delivered them here and the grinding sounds of engines around them. The three stood in a tiny, quiet pocket and looked around them at a small, defended camp huddled in the shadow of this world’s Stargate.

It was strangely busy and peaceful at once. Above them arched a softly clouded sky that was wider than anything they’d seen for days, not cropped by buildings lining narrow streets. There was no jungle here, just the crushed, charcoal stubs of cut and burned plants along the ground. Olive and khaki shelters clustered around them – it was clear this camp was there until their people were safe.

All of their people. The three met eyes and Teal’c could see that his teammates felt as diminished as he did. They should be four. O’Neill grimaced. “Okay. I want you two back through the gate with the geeks. Get ‘em home, people.”

Teal’c looked away, found himself meeting Samantha Carter’s eyes. It took him a moment to identify the look he found there. She was appalled. And then her eyes narrowed and she turned her head slowly and shook it. “No. With all due respect, Sir, no.”

“Carter . . .” O’Neill’s voice was a low growl.

She stood straighter, lifted her chin. Teal’c didn’t have to meet her eyes to know where she stood. Where he stood. “O’Neill, we are not done here yet.”

The colonel looked at them both, frustration and worry clear on his face. “Look. I’ll be here. I don’t . . .” He stopped and shut his eyes, face tight, lips pinched. Then opened his eyes back up and heaved a loud sigh. “We need to get those scientists home, and you people have seen enough time on this damn hell hole. Take them home, okay? I’m ASKING you to take them home.”

Major Carter’s face was just as frustrated as she shook her head. “I am not done here.”

“Carter, I’ve already got one of you lost!” O’Neill was suddenly glaring, body tightly coiled and voice cracking and low. “I want to get my damn team off this fucking planet. I do not want to make this an order but if you make me I will!”

Teal’c watched them an instant, seeing O’Neill’s sudden, naked fear and Carter’s bitter determination. He looked away. Then back, and the colonel’s smooth, confident shell was firmly in place once again. He looked up to Teal’c. “I want you people to escort those scientists out of here.”

Teal’c kept his face still, in the calm look he’d worn for more than a hundred years in the face of every order and demand placed upon him. And he shook his head. “I cannot, O’Neill. Major Carter is right. We came here to do a job and we are not yet done.”

Beside him, Major Carter nodded sharply. “We’re staying, sir.”

O’Neill’s tired, blue eyes scanned her face, moved to Teal’c’s and ran over his features too. Teal’c met his gaze calmly, letting only his determination show. O’Neill shut his eyes and ground the heels of his hands into them. He looked smaller for a moment, worn, then he straightened and his shoulders were wide again, spine straight and body strong. “I’ll write you up, Carter. This is insubordination.”

She nodded. They could hear her swallow. “Yes Sir, it is.”

“Teal’c?” The blue eyes were hard, sharp, fixed on his face.

“I am not a member of your armed forces, O’Neill. Major Carter and I came here for a purpose. We will go home with Daniel Jackson.”

O’Neill barely flinched, the tiniest twitch of his eyelids, but his eyes softened and the hard lines around his mouth were not so deeply drawn now. He looked away, towards his second in command. “Carter?”

“We came here to do a job, Sir,” she repeated. And drew a shaky breath. “Please.”

O’Neill rolled his eyes and groaned. “Damn it, Carter. If you start crying I swear to God I’m writing you up.”

Her mouth twitched, drew into a slow, small smile. And she saluted, sharply and with perfect form, that was not in the least at odds with her bedraggled appearance and torn uniform. She held the salute. “Sir. Yessir.”

“Fuck.” O’Neill shook his head, shot a rueful look at Teal’c as well. “Well. Let’s see off the geeks and get this done so we can put this shithole behind us, people. That okay with you Carter? Teal’c?”

They both grinned at his sarcastic, insincere question, and Teal’c bowed his head in his own, subtle salute. “Yes. Sir. It is.”

====================================

 

There had been a time, many years in his past, that Daniel Jackson had thought profanity was for people too dumb to figure out how to REALLY insult someone.

He'd long since changed his mind on that score.

There'd been a time, not terribly long after he'd embraced profanity, that he'd thought that profanity IN ENGLISH was for people too dumb to figure out how to insult someone in another language.

He'd changed his mind on that too.

And now, he'd come to accept that there were times when nothing would quite do it like the good, old, Anglo-Saxon classics.

And this was one of those times.

“Oh, fuck.”

Beside him, Ziusura nodded slowly. “We would have to concur with you, Tau'ri. Oh. Fuck.”

It was hot and humid. An alien steamer that felt like a Washington, DC August. Just past noon on the day after a sweltering night, and the sun battered its way through the haze.

Daniel scratched idly at a sticky, itchy, sweaty, simply disgusting spot on his belly under the edge of his shirt as he stared out at the Stargate, and at the half a city block of space between them and it. That space had probably once been part of an open, urban plaza. It reminded him of the Mall in Washington – a broad, building-bounded avenue emptying into an open parkland, rolling gently up to a low hill surmounted by the lovely arc of the Stargate. The buildings still stood, dilapidated and empty. They still gave way at the top of the avenue to that open space, where sunlight washed the land and the shadows of skyscrapers yielded. But he didn't think he'd ever see the Mall in DC covered, side to side, by a field of eggs shining in that sun. It sort of looked like bubble wrap, if bubble wrap was white, killer bubbles on a field of mulch in a ruined city. Daniel sighed. “I'm sick of this. I really want a shower. And then a bath. A long, soaky bath. And maybe a glass of scotch while I'm in the bath.”

Ziusura nodded again and sighed just as deeply. “And servile, nubile attendants to turn the golden spigots and feed us savory tidbits and scrub our glorious, divine toes.”

“Yeah. That too.” Daniel rubbed his eyes with the grubby heels of his hands and then let his hands drop. “So. All we need to do is dance lightly through that mine field -”

“Without permitting our shadows to fall upon the eggs -” added Ziusura.

“And without your nasty Goa'uld presence tipping them off,” snarked Daniel, “and then we can go through the Stargate and get off this hell hole.”

“We shall ignore your impertinence out of our beneficent nature and in deference to your honorable aid to our holy selves,” snarled Ziusura.

“Great. Thanks. I needed that.” Daniel started to rake his fingers through his hair but the sweaty, oily feeling put him off. “So. Any chance you can talk the eggs into sleeping through our little foray? Bore them to death?”

“Maybe they're stale? Perhaps they are no longer active?” Ziusura sounded wistfully hopeful.

Daniel, looking out at the majority of unbroken eggs and the few shattered shells, smiled evilly. “Maybe. You could sidle up to one and see.”

“You are the lowly host species.”

Daniel snorted. “To quote a few marines of my acquaintance, 'I'm not stupid, I'm not expendable, and I'm not – HEY!'” He broke off as an iron grip seized the back of his neck and Ziusura shoved him around to stand in front of Natalie Peng's scrawny little body. “Get the FUCK off!”

“Your idea was good, Tau'ri. You should be grateful,” grunted Ziusura, shoving him forward. Little divots of muck and mould showed where his dug-in heels failed to have any effect. Daniel squirmed and fought, clawing at the hand on the back of his neck, striking back, but then a shadow moved inside an egg and the white shell blossomed out like a lily and he froze. Simply froze, like a mouse under the shadow of a hawk, not even breathing.

Ziusura had stopped too, when the egg petaled back. And then was backing up far more quickly than he'd pushed Daniel forward, yanking the archaeologist back with him. “Well. They do not appear to be lifeless.”

“You are an asshole!” Daniel rubbed his neck and glared as Ziusura let go of him. “Just so you know, formally and properly. You are what, in the military, would be referred to as a motherfucking goddamn cock sucking -”

“You are disrespectful and wasteful of your energy,” said Ziusura without any heat, coolly eying the eggs. “We are truly beginning to hate this place.”

Daniel sighed. Looked up and saw the Stargate past the eggs. People were standing there, looking back at him. There was a glint that experience told him was sunlight reflecting from lenses and he waved. One of the figures waved back. Another was jumping up and down, arms wildly gesturing and he grinned just a little. It had bright hair. He waved again, then let his arm drop and his shoulders sag. “Maybe we could get around it, come in from another angle.”

The Goa'uld snorted. It was an oddly human sound. “You are clearly dazed by hunger.”

“Well . . . just a thought.”

“Do you not think it likely that there would be eggs in other approaches? Or perhaps that the mature creatures might not herd us towards their hungry larvae?”

“. . . that's a nasty thought. You owe Natalie big.”

Ziusura gave him a nasty look. “We ruled armies and strategy is not within the realm of what your kind would call a 'bug doctor.' We have earned at least some modicum of respect.”

“Get us through that and I might even agree with you.” Daniel waved a languid hand. “It's all yours.”

“Your brilliant Tau'ri mind that so denies our superiority can offer nothing?” The former lord of floods arched an eyebrow and shot him a snide grin. It might have been more impressive if it hadn't been on the face of a skinny, grubby, disheveled and plain Asian entomologist.

“What can I say. I need chocolate and coffee.”

That very human snort answered him again. Ziusura looked out, studying the problem. Then shook itself and took a deep breath. “We see how you turn to the true leaders in your time of fear, Tau'ri. Watch. Learn. Stay close by me.”

“What? Wait a minute! What are you . . .” but the Goa'uld was striding towards the eggs, hands out. As he approached them, they shook ominously, rattled against each other, rippled and then the tops starred and opened up. Daniel caught his breath and stepped up close behind the possessed entomologist, desperately not wanting to be caught in the open.

“Stay very close.” Ziusura's voice held no derision now. The double tones were grim. He stepped forward slowly, into the space between two eggs, precisely in the middle of the narrow path between them.

Daniel nodded, not caring that the Goa'uld was facing away from him, and followed precisely where he led. One layer in, eggs behind them, eggs on either side, eggs in front, and all of them now open like flowers at the top, all showing a faint, shadowy life moving inside through the translucent shells. The moist, warm air felt icy in the human's chest, and he was sure his balls had drawn up into his body cavity in terror. Every stray breeze prickled over skin that was goose-bumped in fear. He could feel the heat of Ziusura's body, could almost feel the faint eddy of air as opening eggs breathed out. The scent of insects and acid was sour and thick.

Ziusura was nearly panting. He could hear the body's breaths. The military issue shirt was dark under the armpits. The Goa'uld advanced carefully, sliding those narrow, boot-shod feet forward, arms out like it was keeping balance, but hands back and the ribbon-weapon jewels in its palms glowed. A tendril slithered from the top of an egg, wavered towards them and a hot beam of plasma fire scorched from Ziusura's hand, sent it snapping back and the shell closing in retreat. The Goa'uld had frozen as it fired. Daniel could see the profile, eyes wide, face pale and lips snarling back from yellowish teeth. The short, black hair swung as Ziusura spun to check the other side, the front, glanced over its shoulder back at him and fired behind him. Daniel could barely breathe, wanted to vomit, wanted to freeze. Instead, when Ziusura advanced again, he stayed close. Very close.

The light bouncing off the eggs was brilliant, left after-shadows behind it. Ahead of them movement kept catching his eyes as they'd approach new eggs and the things would open up. If he got out of this he'd never be able to look at a lily again. They made a tiny sound when they opened, a small, wet, hungry tearing noise. He shuddered whenever he heard it. And Ziusura kept moving, so slowly, so carefully. Flashes of light in the distance caught Daniel's attention now and then. The first time he'd looked up, he'd seen one of the adults, glossy head a shiny, gray, tail lashing. He'd ignored those flashes of movement after that, concentrating only on the area a few feet around him, the area that could kill him. He nearly froze at that thought, shoved it down and slid through the mucky stuff between the eggs, staying exactly in the tracks Ziusura had laid down.

It took forever. He'd been here forever. He'd be here forever. Balanced on a knife edge, barely breathing, cold in his chest and sweat running down his palms and the world narrowed down to rounded white, white flowers, shadows and tendrils and the gray, filthy back of Natalie Peng's shirt, clumpy black dirty hair on Natalie Peng's head, electric blue and white glow of the ribbon weapons in Ziusura's hands. Sometimes they flashed and that hungry sound would happen as the eggs retreated. Once, Daniel hissed to him, “Just kill them already! Blow us a path!”

“Do you wish to live?” The Goa'uld had glanced back for an instant, long enough for Daniel to see skin tight and drawn, eyes dark with fear. “I believe the adults would attack us were I to kill. Be silent and stay close.”

And he did. The Goa'uld's words made sense and the plain phrasing hadn't escaped the linguist. Ziusura was terrified and doing the only thing he could – trying to survive. Daniel stayed quiet and close, finally reaching out to lay a hand on the narrow shoulders he followed. Ziusura didn't pause – Daniel hadn't meant him too. He was simply there, near, and afraid. Just like Ziusura. Afraid.

A thin motion, dark against white, to one side. Daniel squeezed and Ziusura fired and they moved on, one small step at a time. A sound and another shot. Over and over. Ziusura's shirt was soaked under Daniel's hand. Hot. He could faintly hear shouting, human voices, but here and now none of that was real. The only real things were the shoulder under his hand, the eggs, and the sounds of the things around them and the shots the Goa'uld fired. Firing just over the surface, skimming, forcing the hungry things back.

And then Ziusura stopped. Daniel froze right behind him, hand still firmly in place. Looked up for the first time in eons. The sun had changed position, the egg shadows were a little longer, the Stargate gleaming. They were so close now. Barely a hundred feet left, and he could see faces. Jack was standing in front, nearly in range of the eggs, visibly tense. Sam and Teal'c flanked him. Fanned out to either side were men in jungle camouflage, alert and waiting, weapons all trained out towards the eggs. Towards them. Silent.

Ziusura sighed. It was loud in that instant. He could see Jack twitch and knew they'd heard the little noise. The Goa'uld looked over his shoulder at Daniel and smiled sadly. “I do like you, you know.”

The words made no sense and he frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice felt rusty as if he hadn't spoken in hours, though it couldn't have taken that long to get here, not really.

The Goa'uld straightened, raised his chin. “Know this. We would have been proud to wear you as host.”

Daniel blinked, almost made a snide comment but this was . . . wrong. He looked up. The marines and his team were waiting, not pacing, but their nerves were almost visible. He looked back to Ziusura, who handed him a lighter and a can. “Remember how to dance, Tau'ri. We would have worn you with honor and love.”

“But . . “

Ziusura shook off his hand and spun, stepping away, firing to keep back the eggs. And shouted, “You must not fire. If you fire you risk your own!”

Daniel tried to follow but Ziusura passed an egg, kept it down by fire, and it opened in his path. And another and another and Daniel was surrounded by them now. Alone in a ring of the things.

Ziusura shouted, “If you fire, you fire towards him! If you fire you risk bringing them down upon you!” He gestured to the sides, where adults were waiting, moving, flashing in the light as they spun back and forth, and glittered. “I am holding my fire. I advise you to likewise hold your fire and wait.”

“I will personally shove a grenade up your ass so far it ends up behind your teeth you fucking snake!” Jack's threat rang out and Daniel almost smiled to hear it. “He dies and you'll wish you were dead!”

“His life or death are up to him.” Ziusura kept going. “Your threats are the yapping of tiny beasts in my ears.”

Cocking weapons was a sound Daniel knew well. He hadn't thought he could be any more afraid. Until now.

Ziusura paused, relaxed and calm, just one layer of eggs from escape. “Do not aim at me. I can still fire and destroy you – or him – before you bring me down. Do as I say and . . . “ He turned to smile at Daniel. “Do as I say and I may yet one day wear your face, Tau'ri. Obey me in this. It is the only chance I can give.”

“Daniel?”

Jack was looking past Ziusura, out to him. Daniel was trembling, afraid that even his shaking might take him in range of an egg. Ziusura had placed them well, in a tiny space just out of reach. He hoped. Daniel met his friend's eyes. “Hi Jack.”

“Oh God,” Sam's face was pale. She spun to the soldier beside her, “Don't fire. Don't fire!”

Teal'c had laid his staff weapon out, reaching across one weapon's muzzle, nearly to a second and the threat took no words. Those weapons also lowered towards the ground.

Ziusura paused, looking back towards Daniel. “Tau'ri. Remember how to dance.”

“What the hell are you talking about!?” Daniel wasn't sure if it was just sweat rolling down his face or not. There was a ringing in his ears and the skin around his eyes felt numb and cold.

“And you claim to be worthy of respect.” The eye roll was visible. “Look. At. Your. Hands.”

He did. And then up, and then down. “You are nuts!”

Ziusura actually snickered. “Do what I say and one day we may meet yet again.”

“Nuts nuts nuts,” muttered Daniel but he was flicking that lighter for all he was worth. The first two times his hands shook so badly his thumb simply slipped off the wheel. The third time it went out. And fourth time . . . it took. And a clear, narrow flame rose up. Daniel looked up and Ziusura smiled. “Goodbye, Daniel Jackson. Treat yourself with love, as would I.”

“Nuts,” he murmured, but distractedly now. Ziusura had stepped out of the eggs, was standing next to Jack and said something low that Daniel couldn't hear. Jack twitched, but then looked back towards him. Ziusura walked on, turning to pace backwards towards the gate, hands held out, weapons ready. “Look to your friend, not to me. Turn towards me and I will fire upon you all and he'll die. Look to him and live.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” breathed Daniel, not so much in a curse as a prayer. A tendril had risen and wavered. Daniel sprayed the can, sprayed it again. Took a look. Lubricant? Like . . . WD40? He smiled a little, felt himself relaxing. Too bad he didn't have the duct tape and coffee to complete the holy triad. He sprayed the can past the lighter flame and a jet of fire suddenly erupted. It nearly made him jump back, but a glance at the eggs behind him kept him in place.

Daniel looked up, to where Jack and Sam and Teal'c waited, where the marines were glancing back and forth as a small figure punched in gate coordinates and the Stargate ring spun around and a wedge glowed amber, locked. Daniel shuffled forward and a tendril rose. He fired the can past the lighter and it scorched a sooty spot on top of a suddenly shut egg. Several eggs around it shut too and a high keening rose from the sidelines as creatures rattled and made tiny forays into the field. Daniel gulped and changed his angle of fire, shuffled forward another yard, two, three, fired again as an egg tipped threateningly towards him, careful this time to keep his torch above the things. No keening, held breath, forward again and there was a touch at his knee and he screamed and spun, fired over the tops of eggs where a slimy, long tentacle had ventured out to grope for his leg. The eggs behind him snapped shut.

He could see the whites around Jack's eyes, the lines at the sides of Sam's mouth. The proud twitch of lips that was a full blown paternal grin in Teal'c-body-language as he turned back. Daniel wiped the stinging sweat out of his eyes and in the background saw the whoosh of the gate. Ziusura raised a hand to him, then drew it down its own throat in a sexualized caress. In an instant the Goa'uld turned and was gone. Daniel blinked. Shook his head. And moved forward. Just a few more yards to go.

The eggs were rattling loudly now, moving back and forth as the things inside them lurched around. The course Ziusura had taken was blocked as one rocked loose and rolled into his path. Daniel paused and reached a careful toe out to nudge it to the side, fired over the tops of the things nearby and smiled harshly as the petals slapped shut. Another yard, nearly there. Two more ranks of eggs were left, at most. He could see Jack breathing hard, winded in sympathy, hear Sam's muttered prayers and nearly smell his teammates. He was pretty sure they could smell him. Paused for a second. “Promise me the first thing we do is get showers.”

Jack scowled, suddenly looking more like himself. More annoyed, instead of scared. “Infirmary. You know that.”

“Showers. Not negotiable, Jack.”

“It's not my rules!”

“We're making an exception.”

“I can't!”

Daniel flashed an armpit and grinned savagely as Jack gave a theatrical wince. “My body qualifies as a chemical weapon right now. Showers.”

“Daniel! Will you QUIT stalling!”

“Jack, I'm the one who's got to get through those. Stalling is my prerogative.” He glanced at the eggs and took a deep breath. “I want that shower.”

“Look, get your ass out of there and we'll talk about it.”

“Done.” Daniel grinned, and suddenly he knew it'd be all right. He was home. With his team. The banter . . .well. It was normal, a return to where things should be. He looked around at the eggs and shook his head. “I suppose this would be a bad time to mention my fear of heights?”

“Daniel!” This time it was Sam growling and he looked up, nodded to her. Back down to look for a path but there wasn't one. Ziusura had just used his ribbon to keep the eggs at bay as he stepped past them and now they rocked and smacked against each other. He sighed. “This is not good.”

“I could fire upon them, Daniel Jackson.” Teal'c had his staff weapon ready and was also studying the course. “You would have time to escape.”

Daniel looked up, studied the area. Open. No cover. A few hundred yards away, thousands of large, heavily armored enemies and no barriers other than their young. Known tendency to defend . . .he shook his head. “We'd never get through the gate in time.”

“Smoke over the top of the top of them like the damn snake?” Jack was eying the eggs.

“It's a plan.” Daniel swallowed hard. Glanced up at Sam. “Any chance you have some kind of magic mini plasma cannon you can cook up?”

She grimaced. “Sorry. Not today.”

“Oh well.” He sighed.

“Just fire that thing up and get out of there, Daniel! Quit fucking around!”

He studied the last, unbroken ranks of eggs and nodded. “Yeah. That might work. That . . .” He looked up. Swallowed hard. Didn't have to work as hard as he'd thought to force a smile and said, “I always knew you'd be there, when I needed you. I never thought you wouldn't.”

“Will you STOP that and just get OUT of there?” Jack growled. “Buy us roses later, okay?”

“Drinks,” said Sam. “I want drinks. A lot of them.”

“Yeah. That. That works.” Jack nodded, edged forward and then back as an egg tipped towards him, a tendril lashed out.

“You guys ready?” Daniel looked up, then down to the eggs. Saw them nod from the corners of his eyes. The marines had gathered around too, but they left a respectful distance for his three people. It was him and his team. And a few dozen hungry alien eggs but that was to be expected, he supposed. He swallowed hard and fired the can past the lighter.

And it sizzled and dripped a few splatters of burning oil to the ground.

“What the hell?” Jack yelped.

“Shit shit shit,” muttered Daniel, shaking the can. There was that tiny, rattling sound that empty cans made and nothing else. He looked up, stricken. “Empty. Oh God, Jack, it's empty!”

“It can't be!”

“Then here!” Daniel tossed it. A few eggs twitched towards it but left it alone. “You make it fire!”

Jack spritzed and spritzed and got nothing. Absolutely no-fucking-thing. Empty. Daniel crossed his arms and nodded. “See? Empty.”

“Oh, this is sooo not good.” Jack spiked the useless can into the ground past an egg. It snatched the thing up and yanked it into the shell, then spit it back out. “Great. Fucking great. SO. Ideas. Anybody got a spare?”

He looked around. “Come on. SOMEBODY”s got have one. Deodorant? Hairspray? SOMEthing?”

“Maybe.” A man wearing captains' bars spun and pointed. “Howland, check the packs.”

The eggs were blooming open around Daniel, tendrils flicking out. “I don't think there's time.” He flinched away from a groping reach and twitched as a touch brushed his arm. “Oh God.”

“Daniel Jackson!” Teal'c's voice rapped out. He was holding out his staff. “Leap for this. Do it now.”

“But -”

“NOW!”

He did. Crouched quickly, gathered himself and sprang. He'd never been an athlete, even now was in shape only by necessity but he was sure he'd broken records as he lunged over the eggs, reaching for that staff with desperate hands, trying not to think of himself missing, falling, crashing into . . .

There was metal in his hands, warm metal hard against his palms and he tightened his grip harder than he ever had in his life and there was a huge pull and he was yanked, blurring sight of eggs below and men ahead and then a whip-crack grasp around his ankle and he screamed. Shrieked and howled as it yanked him back, towards them, the eggs, pulling and -

Hands closed around his arms and yanked him back towards them in turn, towards his team.

A tug of war that was an instant of forever, cold, alien touches on the flesh of his belly, exposed when his shirt rode up, hard, implacable grasp on his ankle pulling and he felt the tendons in his knee and hip almost tear with the strain. Hands, human hands, had his wrists and forearms, grabbed at his jacket, belt, and pulled and suddenly the grip on his ankle came loose. Behind him he saw something horrible flying through the air and then he was rolling, ground hard and honest under him, coming to a halt flat on his back looking up at the hazy sky and panting.

“GodDAMN!” That was the voice of that captain. The one who'd been looking for deodorant. And suddenly his face and another were bending over Daniel. “Dr. Jackson, are you okay man?”

In the background he could hear whoops and shouts, hands slapping hard flesh, grunts, Sam's voice burbling “Okay, okay, let me -”

“Get offa me!” Jack's voice, but not really pissed, almost bragging. “Teal'c my man, I owe you a beer!”

“Indeed,” that word drawn out, delivered for effect. “I believe that you owe me a beer store, O'Neill.”

And the nearly incoherent sounds that a herd of men make celebrating. It sounded like a high school football game to Daniel. Well, other than the part with the captain and his buddy asking if this hurt or that hurt or if he had any injuries to report. Not any football game Daniel'd ever seen at least.

“No, no, fine, no bleeding wounds, little sore, mainly I need a shower.”

“Dried blood here, Sir,” murmured the corpsman.

“Not mine.” Daniel sighed, felt the twinge of sadness but it wasn't enough to stop the growing grin on his face. “I'm alive. I am, aren't I?”

“Yessir, Dr. Jackson. Breathing and pulse and everything,” chuckled the captain. “Even have all your limbs.”

“AND my glasses,” added Daniel.

“And those.”

“You asshole!” That was Jack. Yep. Leaning over them all now, hand extended. “Goddamn it Daniel, not bad enough you go for the world record on resurrections but now you need to get ugly ass ankle cuffs with tentacles too? Jesus Christ you need a better fashion sense.”

“You might be right.” Daniel took his hand and let himself be pulled upright, where he suddenly found that maybe his limbs were all there, but at least one of them was a bit less functional than usual. “Oh, ow!”

“Sir?” The corpsman was there instantly, on the side Jack wasn't holding up.

“Ankle. Knee. Yeahhh, that hurts.”

Fingers probed the joints, not as gentle as they might be but totally unlike tentacles and therefore really not that bad. “I think you've maybe got a sprain and a couple nasty pulls here, sir. You'll have to ask the docs to be sure but I'm betting on a little bed rest and ice packs, elevate it, and good as new.”

“Right. Marvelous. Sounds just right.” Now Sam and Teal'c were there, crowding close, somehow managing to touch him now and then. “After my shower.”

“Yeahhh, about that.” Jack wrinkled his nose. “I'm thinking we might make an exception to that infirmary first rule.”

“Not that I would ever ask for such a thing.”

“No, just . . . It'd ruin your chances with the nurses if they got a whiff of you like this.”

“Of course, of course,” Daniel was hobbling towards the gate, Jack helping him. Somehow Sam had slid under the arm where the corpsman had been. Teal'c was at the DHD. Daniel suddenly felt a stinging at the back of his eyes as the gate spun and locked again and again. He blinked hard. Tried not to remember the times he didn't think he'd see this again. And the people who weren't there with him. Cleared his throat and finally said. “I want to go home.”

Jack's arm tightened around him and Sam's hand on his wrist squeezed. The lump in his throat loosened and somehow, home had come to him.

 

============================

The handicapped spots had been taken. And the ones nearest the restaurant. Daniel gripped his cane tighter as he finally reached the door and stood back for an old man. A Senior Citizen. An Elder. Who had a doggy bag in his hand. He also had white hair and a wide, gentle, wrinkled smile. And he was spry. Sprightly. Not limping. Daniel Jackson was reasonably certain the old man was laughing at him as he hobbled past, forcing a toothy smile of thanks for having the door held open for his poor, battered body. “Thank you. Kind.”

“No problem, son. I thank God it’s you and not me.”

Yep. Definitely laughing at him.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m the laughing stock of the geriatric community.”

“Oh, you’ve been that since you joined my team.” Daniel jumped, startled. Jack’s warm, big hand grabbed his elbow and steadied him. “Whoa, tiger. Can’t have you surviving . . .field exercises like that and then killing yourself falling down in a restaurant. It’d give the Air Force a bad name.”

Daniel turned a big, bright, sincere smile on him. “Fuque toi, Jack.”

“Ow, wounded!” The Colonel placed a hand over his heart and managed to paste a hurt expression on his face. It lasted about two seconds before it melted into a wicked grin. “So when did Janet cut you loose?”

“Three hours ago.” Daniel paused as he carefully made his ungraceful way to a round table where Teal’c and Sam were waiting. “First thing I did was grab a VIP suite and get a shower that did NOT involve nurses selling lottery tickets.”

“Yeahhh, I heard some of the don’t ask, don’t tell crowd seriously cleaned up on selling their options. When my hair went gray the sponge bath mafia let up on me a little and I tell ya, it made me wish I’d dyed it gray a decade before.”

Daniel snorted. “What you really mean is you wish you’d stopped using Grecian Formula fifteen years ago.”

“You know you CAN be dealt with. And even if both your feet worked you couldn’t catch me.”

“You have to sleep some time.”

Jack’s smile gentled. “Maybe in a week, Daniel. You look pretty sore today.”

“. . . a little.” Daniel admitted.

“What’d Janet say? Is it broken?”

“Just sprained.” Daniel winced as the leg twinged. “It’s fine. Not like you and that road rash on your face.”

“Right.” Jack made a rude noise. “You’re just jealous of my rugged good looks.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” Daniel matched his rude noise. “Don’t tell me. Have you been using that old line about falling off a mountain while you were free climbing, again? They don’t buy that do they?”

“Envy is so unappealing.” Sam and Teal’c were looking up curiously as they reached their table. Jack pulled out a chair. “And here, after you spent all that time in the company of a lovely aristocrat!”

“What? HER? Or is that him?”

“I don’t think I want to go there, Daniel.” Jack helped ease him down into his seat. “You know they’ve put a BOLO out for your sweetheart. I’ll let you know if anyone spots her.”

Daniel sighed heavily. “I know there wasn’t much of a chance, but I was really hoping we could bring Natalie home.”

“We will. One day.” Jack nodded decisively. “She’s one of ours, Daniel. We won’t forget her.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “I suppose I should be thankful that . . . ‘Zee’ isn’t the worst choice she could have made.”

“Hey, I’m still hoping we can pick Natalie up on the rebound, if you know what I mean. I figure probably your Zee’ll be dumping Nat fast. She had a thing for you. A quick change and she’ll show back up on your door one of these days. Or that’s how it looked from where I stood.”

“You have a filthy mind, Jack. I can’t believe you’re thinking that.” Daniel screwed up his face in disgust.

“One more notch in your belt.” Jack shook his head. “I guess she counts as your type. Dark, dangerous and . . . all the rest.”

“Is that another trampy princess joke?” Daniel eyed him narrowly as Jack slouched into the seat next to him. Sam and Teal’c exchanged a look and the Jaffa smiled toothily as she handed him a five dollar bill. Daniel leaned forward. “What was that?”

“What?” they chimed, looking innocent. Poorly.

“What was the bet?” He asked suspiciously.

Teal’c folded his hands on the table before him. “Major Carter felt that O’Neill would be expressing concern and asking after your health. I disagreed.”

“Oh, that is so NOT what you said!” Sam wrinkled her nose. “You said he’d get a trampy alien princess dig in and okay, so you were right. But do NOT try to make it sound so . . . “ she huffed. “DIGNIFIED!”

Jack snickered. “At my age, anything is dignified.”

“That’s what I say about artifacts in midden heaps, Jack.” Daniel grinned and took a sip of his water.

“For that, you’re paying the bill.” The Colonel leaned back and caught the eye of a waitress who smiled broadly and made her way across the room with a speed that spoke of hope for a good tip. Daniel looked over at his teammates. “And for your information, he did ask about my health. Right before the undignified comments.”

“Pay up.” Sam held out her hand and Teal’c handed her money back.

Daniel pointedly ignored them and turned a smile he hoped was charming on the young woman standing beside him with her handful of menus. “Hi. Two scotches. Glenlivet if you have it. And . . . could we get another place setting?” He tapped the table to his right.

She looked puzzled but nodded, smiled back and handed him a menu. “No problem. In just a minute, if you can wait?”

“No hurry.” Daniel smiled a little sadly. “No hurry at all.”

She nodded, got the rest of the drink orders and scurried off, intent on her mission. He ran a finger across the fake leather of the menu and blinked hard, blinked again and looked up to find three confused faces turned towards him. “Are we expecting someone else?” asked Sam.

“You got a date?” Jack’s eyebrows jumped with curiosity.

“Something like that.” Daniel looked up and met their eyes in turn. They waited as the waitress put down a placemat, plate, and silverware, waited again as she brought their drinks.

“Well?” Jack’s single word was dry, patient.

“Patience is a virtue, Jack.” Daniel dimpled at him with a look he’d practiced in mirrors before hitting foster parents up for big orders of books. He smiled widely and ordered two steaks, one rare and one medium rare, and sipped at his scotch as the others ordered too.

Sam took her shot after the orders were given. “Uh, I guess ‘well?’ says it for me too.”

Daniel shut his eyes. Smiled softly and shook his head. Sipped again. “So. You guys didn’t tell me how you wound up cut off with a herd of Ph.D. ducklings. Just run across them?

Jack’s eyes crinkled in a wince and Sam abruptly looked away from him. Teal’c met his gaze in a steady, neutral stare and answered. “We were called, Daniel Jackson. They asked for our help.”

Sam looked back, visibly forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I tried,” she whispered. “Oh Daniel. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get to you.”

Daniel blinked, thought back and considered. “That was when we couldn’t reach you? The contact dropped?”

Jack nodded. Started to speak and stopped, cleared his throat. “We didn’t know if you were still alive, Daniel. We . . .” He trailed off and took a quick sip of his drink. Grimaced.

“I get it.” Daniel sighed. Smirked in answer to Jack’s skeptical look. “I do. Believe me. And I don’t think I’d have dared say no to Elaine either. I KNOW her. She’d have chewed her way back . . home if she had to, and then you’d have been up shit creek, better believe it. I think they had to mop up the last assistant who screwed up in her lab.” He shuddered and toasted his teammates. “You survived. In the end, that’s what counts.”

“We should have come after you.” Sam blurted it, fingering her margarita and turning the glass around and around. “We should . . .”

“You couldn’t.” Daniel shrugged. “Sam, despite what you think, I am a scientist and I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”

“The tooth fairy on the other hand . . .” muttered Jack.

“Hey, hey, the tooth fairy is a known phenomenon well documented in anthropological research,” Daniel shot back. “But I wasn’t expecting a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer and I sure wasn’t expecting you guys to come riding through the . . . well. You get the idea.”

“Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c’s lips twitched upwards but his eyes were still solemn. “I accept your forgiveness and can only say that we would have found a way, somehow.”

Daniel sat up straight and leaned forward. “Listen to me. All of you. There is nothing to forgive. I know you’d have reached me, if you could. Hell, you’d have done it even if you shouldn’t have been able to. I know that. If you need to think I forgive you –“ he ducked head head, looked back up to find Sam’s pained gaze. “Then believe it. I don’t need to forgive an offense that never happened, but you’ve got my forgiveness, my understanding, whatever you need. Most of all, you have my trust. All of you.”

Jack cleared his throat and made a face. “God. This is awful. Did we have to do this in public?”

“I dunno, Jack, I remember you as an exhibitionist at heart. That bit on the campus of galactic clap sure wasn’t private!” Daniel grinned and turned, happy for the excuse.

The sly, amused look he got in return was what he’d been waiting for, what he really needed. Daniel finally sat back and sighed in relief. Shook his head. “I’ll tell you one thing. I really MISS my deserts now.”

“I think I agree,” moaned Sam. “I threw out all my houseplants.”

“I believe that I would also have removed dead ornaments, Major Carter. How is this a hardship?” Teal’c’s face was expressionless but his eyes creased just the tiniest bit at the corners.

She scowled. “You’re making that up.”

“No he’s not, Sam. I saw that heap of dead stuff outside your place when I drove past the other night, too.”

“Are you . . . Wait a minute! You two are scoping my PLACE?”

Jack shrugged. “Daniel was laid up. What else were we gonna do for fun?”

“You –“ She had to cut off her comment as the waitress appeared again with plates laden with steaming steaks. She made a face at Jack. Daniel wouldn’t have put money on it, but he was reasonably sure Jack had timed his comment to the food’s arrival. It did provide a perfect distraction, he had to admit.

Three of the four leaned forward, and suddenly they were quiet. They were looking at the plate with its steaming filet mignon, sitting before an empty seat. A glass of expensive scotch sat untouched by the plate. Daniel sat up more slowly than his teammates and looked around at them, meeting each set of eyes in turn. Then picked up his glass and reached out, solemnly tapped the glass to the glass by the plate and took a sip, then put his drink down. “Rest well, Frank. I miss you. Thank you.”

There was a long, long silence. Then Jack picked up his glass, and Sam. And Teal’c. And softly, each in turn repeated, “Thank you. Goodbye.”

Daniel blinked hard, vision blurring and stinging for an instant, then smiled. “Let’s eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who stuck it out this far, I hope you had a good time reading this! Thank you - Goo

**Author's Note:**

> I'll own up that I LOVE feedback. Tastes great, less filling! If you want to share your views, opinions, rants, comments, or miscellaneous statements, you can reach me at livengoo@tiac.net.


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